


Good Fortune

by ClownfuckinAround



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: AU, Angst, Bondage, Consent, Cowgirl Position, Creampie, Dom/sub, Dominant Pennywise (IT), Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Feels, First Time, Firsts, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Impregnation, Kissing, Lapdance, Loss of Virginity, Love, Making Love, Making Out, Missionary Position, Mutual Orgasm, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Pennywise Being an Asshole (IT), Pennywise in Love (IT), Pennywise is His Own Warning (IT), Pennywise/OC, Pennywise/Original Female Character - Freeform, Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Pennywise (IT), Psychological Trauma, Rating May Change, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, Sex, Sexual Content, Simultaneous Orgasm, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Soulmate AU, Strip Tease, Tentacle Dick, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Trauma, Vaginal Sex, Virginity, Water Sex, Yandere Pennywise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:36:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 195,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24301468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClownfuckinAround/pseuds/ClownfuckinAround
Summary: Angel is just another girl who grew up in Derry, but there's something different about her. Some might tell you its the way she acts, the way she dresses, the offbeat sense of humor no one seemed to like (well, no one except a few misfit kids) or something else no one liked to talk about in the small town of Derry, Maine. Little does she or anyone else know, however, that she's meant for something beyond a shitty meaningless existence working as an assistant for the Derry Public Library. No, she was put on this planet, more specifically in this town, for a reason. She just didn't know it yet.
Relationships: Pennywise (IT) & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 76
Kudos: 160





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all, here comes my first attempt at something multi-chapter! I've been trying to plan this out for ages (keyword here being try, I'm by no means an old hand at this) and I've finally got enough down that I feel comfortable posting. Just a bit of a disclaimer here- None of this is serious. As in, I'm writing this for fun and purely to satisfy some very personal fantasies of mine that I've had for years. I'm not looking for negativity, nor am I looking for criticism. If you like it, that's great! If you don't, feel free to move along and find something else that strikes your fancy. For those of you that do like my work, however, I hope you stick around, and I hope you enjoy this labor of love ♥

August of 1988. The beginnings of fall are starting to become apparent everywhere from the trees shedding their crisp foliage to the nipping cool of autumn air sweeping in to overtake the sultry swelter of summer. The morning is young, still yet to be graced by the warm radiance of sunrise and the town is sleeping, still pleasantly lost in a somnolent sea of dreams and reverie. Derry was still and quiet and peaceful, serenaded by the song of chirping crickets and gentle gusts of wind in restless, rustling trees. The jarring, urgent siren screech of an alarm clock posted vigilantly on her bedside table is what rouses her from slumber and she hazily shuts it off with a low, lurching groan. Shifting underneath the covers, she rolls from her mattress and leaves the luscious warmth of her comforter, feet padding down on cool hardwood paneling as she rubs the torpid haze from her eyes. A cat reclining lazily at the foot of the bed gets up with a yawn and slinks out of the room. A morning, fairly standard, that began as any other. 

Slipping on a t-shirt and shorts she walks down the hallway. The house is beset with a gentle chill; it makes conversation with the sunbeams casting brilliantly through the windowpanes, and she yawns with a shiver as the breeze nips at her naked legs. She places a filter with grounds into the basket of her coffee maker and fills the basin with water before setting it to brew, relishing in the rich, full-bodied aroma that moves freely through the air as the appliance sets diligently to its task. She pulls a record sleeve off a dusty bookshelf and slips the vinyl disc out. However, just before she can set the needle down on her Sony turntable there is cacophonous banging at her front door to greet her, and when she opens it she finds a host of familiar faces, familiar children that come clambering in boisterously despite lack of invitation. The first one to speak is always the same; the loudest child, a scrawny one with a mess of mousy brown hair and glasses.

"Angel, man, how’s it going? You still scaring everyone away with your loud music? I'm tellin' you man, it’s a good thing all of Derry hasn’t gone deaf by now, or they wouldn’t be able to hear me bangin' Eddie’s mom every night, _ow_!”

Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier.

“Wow, right to the jokes about my mom, that’s real fuckin’ classy dude.”

Angel used to babysit for Richie a lot. Truthfully, she’d babysat for all of the Losers at one time or another, becoming well acquainted with them in prior years as a teacher’s aide for Derry’s local elementary school. She often brought them back to her house when she did, finding it simply easier than having to follow a new set of rules for each place she sat for. She saw no issue in being herself around them; rather, she came to the conclusion that hiding anything from them would do far more harm than good for their development. They seemed awfully bright to begin with, too, so she saw no point in patronizing them. She would often play her records when they visited, a varied assortment of hardcore punk EPs she could get her hands on by driving out of town to places more savvy, attending concerts, that sort of thing. The brash, hostile sounds of the likes of Dead Kennedys, Black Flag, Bad Brains and Minor Threat often filled the vacant space of her home, much to the displeasure of the neighboring residences. More mellow days were spent in the company of acts like The Smiths, The Cure, and Oingo Boingo. The children found it amusing and even a little cool, finding it to be a breath of fresh air from the things they usually heard the adults of Derry listening to; abhorrently passe folk music or something equally as acceptable to the ever-indomitable status quo. They thought she was cool because she was like them, a Loser. An honorary Loser, but a Loser nonetheless.

The noise of the chirring coffee pot dwindles into nothing, and Angel pours herself a cup in her favorite mug, a Barnum and Bailey's one fashioned in the likeness of a clown face. The mug is battered and the paint on the outside is worn and faded from years of use. 

"Isn't it a little early for you to be running your mouth, Rich?" She asks. She takes a sip of her coffee and makes a sour face before stirring in a few sugar cubes. She’s unsure of why she didn’t just do that from the get-go. Must have been more tired than usual, she supposed.

“How’s a kid s’posed to go pro on a schedule? I work around the clock, baby.”

“Don’t call me “baby,” Rich.”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah dude that’s inappropriate.”

“Your _face_ is inappropriate.”

"No, nuh uh, cut that out." Angel says after another sip. "None of that shit this morning. I need to keep a clear head for my first day and I don't want to walk in with a headache on account of you boneheads."

"Ahhhh, then don’t be list’nin to any of that there loud music neither ya hear?” Richie says, channelling his best and most crotchety old man and shaking a finger at the record sleeve sitting neglected on the coffee table. Dead Kennedys, " _Plastic Surgery Disasters._ " “Will give ya hearing damage, little filleh- rock ‘n roll is fer the devil worshippers.”

"So I've heard." She says in a flat tone.

She sighs, taking her mug from the kitchen to the couch. She sits down and the children take that as an invitation to follow suit, making themselves comfortable on the adjacent loveseat as she nestles into one corner of the sofa's dingy gingham print.

"So what brings you kids to my door at the crack of dawn, other than, y'know-" she gestures vaguely to Richie, who puffs out his chest. "Seinfeld over here trying out his new jokes on me which, by the way, Rich- _not_ your best work."

"Yeah, you're right, I'm better than that." he says in mock dismay. "So, since mom jokes are out, the audience consensus is clear. More dick jokes."

Immediately the room flares up with a unanimous "NO" and he snickers loudly. 

After the silence has settled again, Bill Denbrough speaks up.

"N-nothing much really, Angel. We j-just wanted to come see how you were doing on our way to s-s-school. C-catch you before you left."

"Yeah!" Eddie Kaspbrak's voice is high, but cheery. "We wanted to see you off, you know, wish you luck before your big first day. We didn't want to miss you so we came nice n' early."

Stan Uris is the next to speak, quietly chiming in with his own comments to the peanut gallery. 

"Yeah, Anj, and you could really use a good luck charm. Remember last time, your first job?"

"The Bassey Park fairgrounds." Angel says with a shudder. "I'll never forget how embarrassing that was. They ended up having to trash that uniform completely because they couldn't get the stain out. I ended up paying for that with my whole first paycheck." She takes another sip. "...Not that it was a lot, of course."

"Seeee? What would you ever do without us, Angel?" Richie says melodramatically. "You need us here. We're your rock, baby."

" _Rich._ "

"Sorry."

She smiles and her laughter brightens the room. They keep talking for what seems like an eternity; exchanging biting witticisms, making childish jokes, shooting the breeze like old friends are want to do. And then Angel steals a glance at the clock across the room. "Shit, guys, I hate to show you the door, but I have work in less than an hour and I _can’t_ be late. Talk soon?" 

"Oh please, you just want to get rid of us." 

"That's not entirely untrue, Rich, I need to get ready.”

"That's okay, Anj." Eddie says, nudging Richie. "We got school soon anyway."

"Y-you gotta tell us how it goes, okay?" Bill says, getting up. He slings his bag over his shoulder.

"Yeah, let us know what happens."

" _Yeah_ , champ, we wanna hear _all_ about it when you get off." Richie says in perfect deadpan. After a moment he cracks up giggling before Eddie elbows him in the ribs.

She gives him a withering look over the rim of her coffee cup. "Get out of my house please."

"Right."

"Dude, what's your problem?" She can hear Eddie chiding him as they follow the lead of Bill out the door. 

"The opportunity was _right there_ , how could I resist it?"

"Just shut up, just shut the fuck up dude."

Their back and forth chatter peters out as they shut the door behind them. When they're finally gone she cracks up giggling. They're sweet kids.

**~~~~**

Angel had recently applied to be an assistant for the Derry Public Library, and since there weren’t many people clamoring for the gig she ended up winning the position fairly easily. It looked like a relatively low-key way to spend the day; reorganizing books, cataloguing new additions, assisting people with check-out and that sort of thing. She expected a lot of downtime since the library wasn’t exactly a popular hangout spot, and the majority of workload was bound to fall on the actual librarian anyway. The days working at the fairgrounds were getting longer and longer as time wore on, and dealing with the likes of local urchins like Henry Bowers and his gang of lackeys proved too taxing on the mind for the pay she was getting, so she quietly put in her two weeks and jumped ship. Looking around the town’s job listings left a lot to be desired but the library seemed easy enough. If nothing else, she could stand to do some more reading in her free time, ‘twas good for the soul as they said.

Despite her general reputation within the community as something of a troublemaking pariah, Angel couldn't bring herself to be late to anything, least of all on the first day, so she got ready quickly and left with half an hour to spare. "To be early is to be on time, to be on time is to be late," she reflects on the old and oft-repeated adage from her high school days in the marching band as she makes her way through the old and storied thoroughfares of the town. She walks up the concrete path to the Derry Public Library, hair combed back in a smart ponytail and dressed head to heel in uncharacteristic corporate casual. She nervously snaps the pantyhose against her leg as she takes a deep breath and swings open the front door. Stepping inside she finds herself greeted by a rather paltry display; a straight-laced lattice of tables arranged neatly in rows take up most of the room, with a few bookshelves on either end to round out the space, handful of diligent students scattered here and there on academic errand. The library is rather modest and limited, nothing surprising for such a small town however. She finds it almost charming, scanning the room with observant scrutiny before her eyes fall curiously on the corridor at the other end, dark and dingy in contrast to the window-lit warmth of the main chamber. Despite its lack of welcoming aura she almost finds herself drawn towards it, but before she can make her way over to investigate she's intercepted by the sudden manifestation of the head librarian.

"Oh, Ms. Graider, you're here." She says thinly. Her voice lacks all emotion, feeling, or empathy. "Nice to see a candidate who actually shows up on time for once."

Angel takes a quick glance at the clock overhead. She was still about twenty minutes early.

The librarian wastes no time, making a brisk pace over to one of the bookshelves, a little time-worn and shabby from years of use. It creaks as she places a book back on one of the rows. She gives no preamble.

"I want you to start by re-organizing this shelf. The kids in this town are dreadfully disorganized, and seem patently incapable of putting books back in the correct places."

Angel nods along, her face a caricature of stern disapproval she can hardly keep up. What an absolute pill this lady was. 

"Disobedient, disorderly brats, the lot of them. I do hope you have enough sense not to stoop to their level."

"Of course." Angel lies, remembering the time she hid a rotten banana in Henry Bowers' backpack the day after he set her hair on fire during a test. It stayed there for a week until the teacher got sick of it and sent him home with the express instruction to take a shower, but not before threatening to spray him with the hose first. Good times.

"You can alphabetize, I trust? I want all of the books on this shelf put back in their proper place and categorized in that order. You can come to me when you're done and I'll let you know what you can do next."

She doesn't so much as give Angel a chance to respond before she returns to what she was doing. She lets total silence settle over the room again and takes a deep breath in through her nose before relaxing, her shoulders taking on a more slouched, easy-going posture now. Geez, she didn't expect such... Formality. If anything, she expected the opposite. Oh well; it could pay the bills, and at the very least despite her strict demeanor the librarian seemed content to leave her to her own devices as long as the work completed itself. She really had nothing to complain about at the end of the day. It sure as hell beat batter-frying corndogs and collecting the disgusting refuse of the Bassey Park fairgrounds, that was for certain. She rolls up the sleeves of her turtleneck and cracks her knuckles, getting to work. The dark corridor slips from her mind, forgotten.

**~~~~**

A minute passes, and then half an hour, and then before she knows it the end of the day has come in the form of a sunset, remarkably striking with an ethereal wash of purple over swirls of a fiery orange sky. Truth be told, Angel found that work at the library turned out to be a rather pleasant rhythm to get lost in. Having a list of things to do that didn't involve dealing with disrespectful shitheels as she slummed it through minimum wage hell was freeing in a way; it gave permission to abandon all thought and become consumed in movement, in instinct. That day she hadn't thought about much of anything; not of the kids, how her room needed cleaning, bills that needed paying or a cat that needed feeding. Not of the things that troubled her, like how she looked, how she felt, or the disdainful way people stared at her that made her feel small. None of it. The day was not overly taxing, nor was it vacant or monotonous. The librarian offered little interruption, content to leave her be so long as she didn't "dawdle" or "dilly-dally." She makes her way back home and locks the front door behind her. Bed is a soothing elixir to the ailments of work-weary bones, and she falls asleep that night tired but feeling fulfilled.

Many nights of the same follow after and before she knows it, a month has already passed, a procedural pattern settling in over the previous days of monotony. In September of 1988 fall is in full swing, and she crawls into bed after another long day, after another calendar page of routine and lets the candlelight at her bedside lull her into peaceful exhaustion. And then, when she snuffs out the flame with her breath and settles into her cozy nest of pillows and blankets, something else, somewhere else deep within the darkest dredges of the town shifts and stirs.

And then it wakes.


	2. Interlude: The Beast Below Derry

As soon as it opens its eyes again, the energy begins seeping back into its otherworldly form. It takes in the familiar sight of its dark and cavernous dwelling, eyes scanning sharply over all the crags and bluffs cloaked in the tranquil, black gloom. A place, deep and fathomless and bleak sits unperturbed below the hollow reaches of Derry, a lair to house a looming and eternal beast. Feeling sensation return to its limbs, it flexes the devastating might of one talon against a nearby stalagmite, chittering as the emptiness of the pit swells with a choral cacophony. Shadows in the cave become blinding, searing light when it throws back its head and stretches open its maw. It looses a yawn so fearsome that all of Derry feels it in a tremor below their feet, the sky cracking overhead with the impending promise of rain. The beast sits in tempered silence for a time, overcome with something; an urge, an instinct; an overwhelming feeling it cannot suppress for long. Hunger.

Hunger for fear, hunger for flesh… But hunger for something else as well. Something new, something foreign, and yet still an age-old pang it has known for eons. As soon as it returned to the waking world, it could feel it. It's lost in thought as it ascends from the cave, its form gradually shifting into something more humanoid as it nears the surface. Long, spindly legs make calculated, skittering movements up the long and winding incline of the path, wherein it wades through the moat-like body of muck and grime to reach the opening to its burrow, the narrow threshold back into the outside world. He finds himself overcome with familiar sentiment, a feeling of potent longing and need for something he has never truly known. Scenting the air, he can detect its flavor like the lingering notes of a perfume, elegant and floral. He knows it, he feels it, and it drives him wild. She’s here.

He had spent many cycles, many moons, many _centuries_ just biding his time. Waiting. He had longed for this for an eternity, and now, it appeared his patience may finally come to fruition. He would conduct his search immediately for the girl. He would find her, he would seduce her, he would make her his. He only had so much time to do so, and he intended not to waste a single second of it before his next long rest. Oh, the time he had spent, just waiting for her… Sleeping, feasting, he had thought of her at his side for so long, a perfect counterpart that could soothe and temper the worst of him, or better, embolden it so that he may take from this town as much as he dared and more. Despite the intentions of _him_ , despite his expectations, he would do as he pleased with the girl. He would impose his will, draw it out of her with beautiful promises and gentle touch and _time_. Time spent spinning his web, casting his hypnotic spell and corrupting her purity until she would do little else but bend to his every manipulation. He wanted to love and consume the girl completely, co-exist with such a perfectly molded mate for all of eternity. He just needed to find her. Find her, win her, command her loyalty and adoration, dominate her utterly in body and soul.

Oh, and he can see her in his mind’s eye, can see everything that she is, everything that she ever was; memories of her trickling into his own as though they existed as one and the same. He knew who she was, oh he knew… A girl of such unsurpassed kindness and generosity and compassion, a perfect compliment to his wickedness, the essence of his ravenous, self-serving nature. A girl so incomparable to the rest of them, unique and charmingly peculiar; a black sheep who will stray from the fold, besotten to his gentle, shepherding hand. He can feel a smile creeping across his face at the thought. How he couldn’t wait to see her for the first time; his other half, a beautiful morsel intended just for him and him only, sheer perfection and a work of human flesh unlike any other. 

Despite his elation and his excitement, however, he cannot help but be frustrated that he cannot fully detect her yet, taste her scent. So muddied by the rest of the damned humans, the rest who existed only as cattle to sate his wolfish palate. They stood in the way, serving only as an obstacle. He could do little else but follow the trail, a rabid dog who would see this task to completion no matter what dared stand in the way, snuffling at the path and picking up the delicate notes of her scent along the way. He could smell her even now as he plods along, thinking, plotting as he slithers sinuously up the pipeways of Derry’s intricate sewer tunnels. His eldritch eyes scan over the town like a foul buzzard trailing eager circles in the sky, hunting persistently and endlessly for that which would sate his rapacious hunger.

The day is dark and overcast, wrought by a furious and blustery storm to properly signify his arrival. His eyes, furious and intense coins of gold, glint dangerously in the dark as he moves, catching glimpses of the world above by way of the occasional sewer grate, wet and empty thoroughfares abandoned to the sullen rain. Feeling his persona begin to bleed into his features again, his stride is careful and predatory, quiet and deliberate and indicative of his very nature. He contemplates the circumstances in which he might see her, might find her for the first time. What he might do, what he might say to make a powerful first impression for her. He knew she wouldn’t fall madly in love with him at first sight, as much as such a thing might utterly delight him. No, it would take time, cunning, tact… Luckily, Pennywise considered himself a master of subtlety, a craft he has honed over centuries of practice and routine. It was a skill required to draw in his prey, and this girl was no different in that respect. It was simply a matter of time before he found her, and when he did, he would exercise the full extent of his talents. Tweaking, pulling threads until she came apart for him, and he would put her back together, reshape her in his own ideal image. He thinks on it fondly, following her vague, beckoning trail in silent contemplation.

And then, without another thought in his alien conscience, a cry of dismay rings out in the streets overhead. He stops just short of a sewer drain as an errant object drops through and catches against his feet. A charming, wax-brushed paper boat inscribed with the name “S.S Georgie” lays there, eager to be swept in with the furious current of the sewer water below.

“Oh, Bill’s gonna kill me!” the shrill voice whines.

Hunger of a different kind begins to overtake him in this moment, one more pressing and urgent that he cannot stand to ignore. Not when such a perfect specimen drops into his lap, an offering for his palate he cannot waste or refuse, for twenty-seven years is a long time to wait, a long time to be hungry… His appetite is looming and insuppressible, a culmination of an age spent in dormant hibernation and he stills himself with a smile, blending effortlessly into the black behind him, a predator in perfect repose. He salivates at the thought of fresh meat, salted to perfection, tender flesh melting on his ancient palate and drool drips from his plump red lips. A low, rumbling growl rises in his throat. Dipping ever-so-elegantly to pick up the delicate paper craft, he makes a perfunctory scan of the child, a boy clad in a yellow raincoat that peers helplessly into the drain from above. A pair of brilliant blue eyes greet him from the shadows, and the voice is something gentle and friendly and familiar.

  
“ _...Hiya, Georgie._ ”


	3. Omen

The day was a grim one indeed. Derry was brewing up a storm of great magnitude, the clouds in the sky roiling with moody, doleful gray and splintering booms of thunder. Then, at last, when the early hours became morning, the first droplets came, and with no time at all those droplets became a downpour; a deluge that drowned the streets with the sky's crestfallen tears, grieving for something unknown, something that was yet to come. And the denizens of Derry largely elected to stay inside during this flood, content to wait out the weather within the comfort and warmth of their own homes. Angel was among them, enjoying her day off in quiet solitude on this dismal Saturday eve, filling the hours as they passed with whatever activity came into her idle mind. She’s cozied up at the dining room table now as she watches the pitter-patter of raindrops against the cool window glass, incense lit and wafting through the air as she devours pages out of another book from the library. She’s on her third cup of coffee for the day. The ashen soot in the sky offers a somber atmosphere, the dusty perfume of petrichor finding its way into her house through the open vents and mingling with the gentle smoke lingering there. She lazes the day away in perfect listless decadence, legs swinging back and forth as she reads and vacantly pets the silky fur of Mayor Jello who had come to join her there at the table.

No visits from the kids today… Not that she had expected it with the current weather. She looks out the window in idle reflection, indolently tracing the rim of her coffee cup and wondering what they might be up to. Richie usually spent his free time at the arcade regardless of rain or sunshine so he was more or less accounted for. Eddie with his neurotic fear of illness wasn’t necessarily the rain-faring type and neither was quiet, mild-mannered Stan for that matter. All that left was Bill, who often split his time between his friends and keeping the company of his little brother. Since they were back in school their visits had become increasingly more sporadic over time, occurring most often on the weekends now when both parties were liable to share the day off. She missed them but found she didn’t necessarily mind the silence either; it gave her the much-needed focus to keep her priorities in order. Angel was always a rather scatter-brained girl and couldn’t keep a clear head worth her salt even in the best of times; this was especially apparent in her school years when she would spend her classes nodding at lectures she didn’t properly comprehend regardless of how many notes she took or how earnestly she tried to apply her concentration to the curriculum. The kids treated her with derision, reacting as one could reasonably expect immature children to react to something they didn’t understand, that is with cruelty and juvenile behavior. _Par for the course_ , she thinks with a tired sigh. Oh well, at least all that was over now.

But it seemed routine and responsibility was able to bring some much needed momentum back into her life, as with the introduction of the Derry Public Library into her daily schedule, she finally found herself able to challenge adulthood with much more grace and competency than before. It helped that this job commanded slightly more respect than that of the fairgrounds, which had treated her as little more than a trained monkey following orders. The library was a much more dignified setting, she thought, and a good stepping stone to bigger and better things within the town, maybe even outside of it too. She remembers the way her chest swelled with pride at her first paycheck just a month ago, money she earned doing _real_ and honest work. _Money she didn’t have to waste on paying for a cheap polyester uniform she ruined through circumstances that weren’t her fault._ It was satisfying to see things finally start to pay off, and although she wasn’t swimming in cash the modest rise in income in comparison to her last gig was clearly noticeable. She could pay her bills without the embarrassment of having to call up her family in Haven and ask for help every month, she could afford to keep her and her cat fed without having to worry about forsaking water or electricity in the same breath. She could buy little things that she liked and still keep a roof over her head. It was exciting, it was new. She felt like a grownup.

She turns another page in her novel, eyes scanning carefully over the words as she slowly, very slowly, absorbs their depth and meaning. The ambient tone is beginning to envelop her senses like a cloudy haze. It was an addition that had come to the library fairly recently by way of donation from a furious and concerned mother, having been released to more than modest acclaim a year or so earlier. It was your standard horror novel courtesy of a well known and best-selling author, spinning a dark and twisted tale of a writer who falls captive to the deranged whims of an unhinged fan. She considered herself a casual follower of the novelist’s writings, would even collect the odd book here and there as she stumbled across them, bringing them home for her shelf as a crow would collate various little trinkets and shiny objects for its nest. She was enjoying it so far, finding the grim style of the words, the lurid world contained within the pages coupled with the storm outside captivating, a perfect autumnal tone for the impending arrival of Halloween which was just around the corner.

Mayor Jello is silent and still, eyes closed as he lays receptive to Angel’s gentle attentions, but suddenly his ears perk up and his eyes, green and urgent, dart open in alarm. Without a sound he gets up from the table and jumps down, sounding a wary meow as he jumps to perch in the windowsill facing the street. She disregards him for a time, eyes still following the natural cadence of the text below, but when he continues she gives him a cursory glance out of the corner of her peripherals.

“What’s wrong, Jello? You look spooked.” She muses with concern. He’s silent now, blinking slowly at her. He meows again, his inflection unchanged from before. She frowns.

It doesn’t take long now for her to start to hear the commotion building outside, and finally she abandons her book, making a brisk pace for the window as she crouches to look through the glass. Her eyes fall on the scene laid out down the street and feels a rush of unease shoot through her veins. The police are there, sirens blaring outside the home of the Denbroughs, conducting a thorough investigation of some kind. Mr. and Mrs. Denbrough are speaking frantically with the head officer. Bill stands beside them in his pajamas, cold and wet and shivering. It didn’t take long for the news to spread through the town like wildfire. Georgie Denbrough was missing. Georgie Denbrough was gone.

She didn't finish the book.

**~~~~**

It was all she could think about in the coming weeks following the incident. She was utterly heartbroken in her own fashion, rather haunted by the mere thought of it all. She’d known the Denbroughs for years, she’d practically watched Georgie grow up. And the way it was affecting Bill… It was truly painful to watch, especially since he seemed to blame himself for what happened somehow, becoming completely consumed in a fruitless effort to uncover his whereabouts. He had stopped coming to Angel’s house altogether and those carefree meetings in the morning or hours spent chatting the day away on the weekend fell to the least precedence for the time being. Now it was mostly Richie and Eddie who stopped by, Stan sometimes joining them, sometimes not. They would try to act like things were as normal as they ever were but it was a fruitless endeavor, the conversation always inevitably trailing off into discontented silence. They all expressed concern for Bill but knew there was little they could do but be there for him in his grief, support him through this incredibly taxing time and give him space to recuperate.

As much as she wanted to have faith that he might turn up eventually, as much as everyone did, Angel had seen more than enough years in this town to be privy to a more unpleasant and unfortunate truth. Derry was a small town, and if he hadn’t turned up already, there was little chance he ever would. It was a hard pill to swallow, but a necessary one nonetheless. And that was to say nothing of the rumors, of the superstitions always quietly circulating within the town. Anyone who was anyone knew of the town’s upward trend in disappearances compared to neighboring places in Maine and even all over the country. Sometimes adults, mostly children, who simply shuffled off in clusters at a time, falling off the face of the earth without a hint as to their whereabouts. Some suggested the unrecovered were simply runaway cases, others suggested possibilities more grisly; a murderer or a perhaps a monster lurking in the storied shadows of Derry’s history. Nevertheless, despite the ever presence of such quiet hearsay, it was a case without conclusion. The police did their best to aid in searches, but beyond that, there was really only so much that they could do. The afflicted would do well simply to forget what they had lost with time, as they all did eventually, haunted by victims of a crime without a visible perpetrator.

She thinks of this when she sleeps at night, she thinks of it in the morning as she gets ready for her shifts, and it weighs on her mind as she works through the day. Tragic as Georgie’s disappearance was, she couldn’t deny that it was also a case most peculiar, another thread woven into the enigmatic tapestry of Derry’s sordid past. Perhaps it was more than that, the first in another wave of instances the public would look on with indifference at worst and vague concern at best. Maybe what had happened before would happen again. As she sorts through the pile of returns for the day, she tries to push it from her mind, trying to pick up where she had left off from before. It was… Hard. Grief was often so detrimental to the human mind, it fractured the soul. One could spend months, even years just trying to pick up the pieces, and sometimes it would all be for naught. She didn’t want that. Not for her, not for Bill, or any of the other kids, but she knew this newest hurdle would not be one so easily surmounted. 

Angel wasn’t a complete stranger to loss herself. She’d lost a few distant relatives here and there throughout childhood, and had even lost her beloved cat to old age a couple years back. The latter was a particularly painful affair, the cat being almost akin to a sibling of some kind. That death had sent her spiraling into a particularly persistent bout of depression, backsliding into all kinds of unhealthy coping mechanisms; sleeping too often, not sleeping at all, eating herself sick until she couldn’t feel the pain anymore, the whole nine. She wasn’t a stranger to depression either; rather, it was a constant vitriolic companion in her life for better or for worse. It was like a fairweather friend of sorts, although instead of being present for only the good, it could hardly be dispelled in times of bad. When things were good, it was bad but bearable. When things were bad, it was excruciating. She knew her spirals well by now; she knew the signs, like gusts of wind heralding the arrival of a grand and fearsome storm. And Georgie’s disappearance was an omen unlike any other of something big, something terrible. She could see it on the horizon, powerless to do little else but wait for the burgeoning clouds to loom overhead and bring with them a relentless torrent of their crushing malaise. 

The rain was already dampening her head, bogging her down with a sluggish passivity. Work was already becoming a chore. It was getting hard not to dismiss her alarm when she woke up every morning. She had to make herself eat before she left. When the kids came over, she forced a smile. She was pretty sure the kids were forcing it just as much as she was. Things weren’t as hopeful and bright as they were a month ago, when the rush of euphoria from starting a new chapter was still prevalent and new. The momentum was slowing, she could feel it, and it was only a matter of time before she became stagnant again. Then she would wait for the next thing to save her from herself and rejuvenate her will to exist. She didn’t know what it was, or when it would come, but she knew it would. It always did.

She pushes a cart around the room with the various titles from her pile, returning them to their proper place on the shelves as she looks through them with halfhearted interest. There were a couple amusing looking children’s books about witches and giants, a few nonfiction titles about bird-watching (Stan would like those, she thought passively), and a number of science fiction novellas, one about a dystopian totalitarian society and another, one of her favorites, about a government experiment gone horribly awry. Then, at the bottom of the pile is something that catches her attention. An archival account of the town proper, it seemed, stares at her from the cart with an innocent intrigue. The cover is plain and offers no frills, giving a precise statement as to its supposed subject matter. _A History of Old Derry,_ huh? She quietly sets it off to the side. Maybe they mentioned the disappearances. Maybe she could find out more. Couldn’t hurt to snoop around a little, right? 

**~~~~**

When her shift was finally over, she wastes no time in clocking out and making her way home. The days were gradually shifting into night ever faster, as was the yearly custom in the earth’s cyclical journey around the sun. In a place like Derry, it was quite imperative not to go walking around after dark. Plenty of thugs and hoodlums tended to lurk in the cracks and crevices around town, just waiting for the perfect victim to subject to their crude and wanton acts of violence. It was especially worse for a girl like Angel, who didn’t exactly hold a shining reputation in the eyes of the citizens, and she would receive no mercy on account of her gender either. Boy or girl didn’t matter in Derry, you would get chewed up and swallowed whole all the same if you weren’t careful. So, despite her bold and brazen persona she opted to err on the side of caution, taking the quickest cross streets back to her house everyday in an effort to circumvent the worst of the town’s unlawful ilk. She was quite good at the commute at this point, able to make a timely trip to or from the library in the span of about twenty minutes or so, so she wasn’t ever particularly worried.

Stepping back into her house, she locks the door behind her as always and musters a big, yawning sigh, setting her bag down by the entertainment center and dropping herself onto the couch with a groan. The book is forgotten for now, and all she can think about is catching some much-needed relaxation time before carrying herself off to bed, crawling into her nest of pillow and blankets again and taking herself from one strenuous day into the next. 

“Let’s see what we got, huh?” She sighs, settling into the oh-so-comforting crook in the corner of the couch. With the remote brandished in her hand she flips through the various available channels. Maybe she could catch some Golden Girls, or if she was lucky, Alf sometimes showed up on the channels from out of town. It was all a matter of luck, really, the variety of TV programs to pick from in Derry could be extremely fickle. They often filtered in and out depending on the day, depending on the weather. Most of the time you could only really make out a few local news broadcasts, a couple rerun recordings of various competitive sports like football and golf, sometimes even the odd obscure children’s television show. Angel chose not to bother with it most of the time, and really it often seemed as though her television was mostly there simply to tie the living room together. She liked to keep the news on in the mornings as she got ready for work; sometimes it was nice to break the early silence with something other than another hardcore record that was certain to piss off the neighbors. Call it mercy on her part, perhaps. 

Flipping through the channels doesn’t yield much as was reasonably expected. Nevertheless, she persists through the barrage of weary news anchors and static screens until her pace with the remote becomes rapid fire. She cycles through the channels with halfhearted interest, not particularly engaged anymore until an errant sound catches on her ear and she jumps. She pauses, shaking her head as a shiver rolls down her spine. The mechanical buzz of the static on the screen hums in deadening monotone. Hesitant, she flips back again in search of it, propelled only by morbid curiosity and, perhaps, just the tiniest twinge of fear. Her pace is slow and careful, deliberate now. Though she didn’t want to admit it, the darkness outside and the silence in the house creates a humid mist of eerie atmosphere and suddenly, it feels much more claustrophobic. Mayor Jello is off in another room, attending to his own affairs and leaving Angel to investigate this matter on her lonesome. She almost thinks she imagined it until she finally lands on a screen of gray. A silhouette is barely visible, off center and to the far left of the screen. She can’t make out the form. There is a harsh, shrill sound emitting from the speakers on the TV, incessant and sharp and unforgiving in tone. Though she lowers the volume with the remote, it doesn’t seem to get any quieter. She covers her ears, frozen as she watches the screen, cautiously leaning forward to get a better look.

The figure is speaking words but she struggles to make them out. The voice is garbled and barely distinguishable.

“ _Where… Where…_ ” The voice seems to whisper. “ _Where might you be… Where might you…?_ ” The voice is soft and lilting and almost sweet, though it's tainted by the distortion behind it. “ _Want… Want to… Want..._ ”

She’s puzzled and unnerved, unable to take her eyes off the unusual sight. And then, the voice starts to repeat itself in an unflagging, jilted rhythm.

“ _Where...Where...Where...Where...Where...Where… Where… Where… Where..._ ”

**Behind you.**

She gasps and whips her head back around to face the dining room behind her. Nothing. The shrill sound is still piercing in her ears as she stares headlong into the void, but when she turns back to face the TV screen it dissipates into nothing, almost as though the sound were a mirage of some kind. The grey screen remains but there is nothing, no hint of a silhouette now. There is only gray, and silence.


	4. Found

Another cry rings out over Derry before being swallowed whole by the vicious black. The beast rips into the firm flesh without deliberation, savoring the lingering unease and fear that drips from the meat in fresh rivulets of red. This was an easy one. Well, truth be told, any one of them would have been just as easy. Pennywise commanded control over everything in this town, and that included the various little curiosities the servile flock kept in their private domiciles. He could manipulate and control it all, from cups and spoons to radios and televisions, doors and windows to the mirror on the wall and the springs in the mattress. He would speak to them sometimes through the TV set, he would offer them dubious counsel. He would comfort them, validate their frustrations. He would tell them to do things, and they would listen, because they always did. Or sometimes he merely toyed with them. By infiltrating the frequencies on the television he could snake into the programming and transmit messages of his own, be they sweet words of flattery or sinister foreboding threats from faceless couriers. Like a cat with a cornered mouse, he teases his prey, sousing them up with cold-blooded fear before honing in and making his kill.

And tonight on a night like any other, Thomas Hoffman got ready for bed. He cleaned up his room and brushed his teeth just as mom and dad told him, vacantly staring in the mirror as he waited for his mother to come collect him. Three whole minutes seemed like an eternity, and patently unnecessary for a task so mundane but he complied anyway, knowing his parents would be hard on his case if he came out of that bathroom before 8:30. He resists the urge to squeeze all the toothpaste out of the tube. When that task is finally done mom meets him out in the hallway and walks him to his room, where she tucks him into bed and sits at his bedside in her favorite chintz dress, a simple cream one with elegant pink and red roses on it. She reads him the same bedtime story as always and then she turns out the light. Thomas lays in bed for a time, listening intently. He counts the seconds, then the minutes, letting his imagination take him into various thoughts of little importance; what he might eat for lunch at school tomorrow, what boring subject the teacher might prattle on about for hours, the math homework he said he’d done but hadn’t really. When enough time has passed, when he can no longer hear the muffled talk of his parents through the walls and the house is still he slips silently from the covers and opens the door of his room. Dim light from the wall sconce is bright enough to spill into the black and he pauses in the threshold before taking a few ginger steps forward into the hall, closing the door behind him. With perfect cat-like grace he makes his way back to the living room, doing as he has done for many nights before. When he reaches his destination he makes a calculated search for an object in the dark, his tiny fingers closing around something cold and plastic. Aha! He settles down in front of the TV, and after a second, his face is lit up by the fluorescent blue of the screen once more.

Mom and dad didn't like the TV. Mom and dad thought it rotted the brain, but they begrudgingly allowed him an hour to it every night before bed regardless, knowing that the consequences of denying such easy entertainment to a young child simply wasn't worth the trouble. But Thomas was a kid who often wasn't satisfied with what he was given. Given an inch, he would easily take a mile, with everything from food to playtime. But he was rather good at getting what he wanted without anyone else batting an eyelash; that is, he did it in secret, or through precocious badgering. Swiping an extra cookie when his mother's back was turned or pleading that he deserved more playtime because he did all his homework without being asked. The TV was less negotiable, so five nights out of seven when old mom and dad hit the hay in preparation for their early morning commute to work, Thomas would wait an appropriate amount of time and then sneak out to the living room for a little extra TV, and then he would go to bed whenever his eyes got heavy. No one needed to know; it was harmless, right?

He flips through the channels silently, trying to find anything of interest that might be sharing a late night block with that of the evening news or something as equally low on the viewership scale. He had to admit that sometimes this little ritual could be hit or miss, and sometimes there wasn't much of anything at all to hold his undeveloped attention span. Tonight seemed to be one of those nights, as with several minutes of meandering through the catalog he was still coming up disappointingly short. Nothing but news and static. He sighs, about to call it a night and head to bed but he finally lands on something. A children's television show of some kind, its clarity interrupted by occasional bouts of gray static that weave in and out. A group of children are there, they comprise most of the screen, and in the middle is a clown. Striking blue eyes are contrasted by stencils of red reaching up from his painted lips to his face, and he's clad in dreamy cream-colored ruffles. Thomas is enraptured, staring unblinkingly at the screen as the clown talks with the children, and then the clown slowly meets his gaze. He says his name. Thomas could swear his eyes were yellow now, sickening and evocative of putrid unease. The screen begins to fizzle into static once more until a shrill noise begins to feed in to the speakers, growing louder until the gray is all that's left. The children are gone, almost as though they never existed, and all that's left is the clown. The screen cracks with distortion, throwing his silhouette steadily off kilter until Thomas can only see a glimpse of him, off towards the left-hand side of the screen. The screen doesn't correct, or bring the clown's darkened visage back to center. The shrill sound is almost deafening now, sharply cutting through the static like a hot knife through butter. Curiously enough, the sound doesn’t seem to have alerted his parents to his clandestine activities.

" _ …Where are you..? Where… Where… Where might you be… Where might you…? _ "

He's frozen in cold terror, like a deer in headlights

( ( **d e a d l i g h t s** ))

and then the voice goes into refrain, unnatural and choppy and short. He's slowly finding the strength in his legs to get on his knees. Backing away, he doesn't think to simply turn off the TV. No, far too petrified for any kind of critical thinking now. He stumbles.

  
  


" _...Where… Where… Where… Where… _ "

**_Behind you._ **

Bumping into the coffee table behind him, the child whips his head around with an ear-splitting shriek. There's a sickening crunch, and then nothing but silence.

He grins, licking his chops as he straightens his back. Another one gone without a trace. The first bite is always the best, and he takes the time to savor the aftertaste, letting the meat dissolve on his tongue with the snap of splintering bone between his teeth. His carrion breath is warm as his chest rumbles with a satisfied growl, and he is energized once more. Perking up, he snuffles and sniffs at the stale air. He could taste and detect the scent of most everyone in this town. He could taste the roiling fear and unease on every insignificant little gnat, can smell how helplessly they flit towards his ploys and manipulations like moths drawn to flame. Every single one of them that had tuned into his little transmission, he could taste the way their hearts raced, how their ears strained, feel the cold chill running down their backs. And it was such a savory taste, rich and hearty and robust and yet… Curiously, a lingering afternote is something sweet and fragrant, almost cloying. It’s familiar, and he knows exactly what it is. It’s her. Wherever she was, she had felt him. She had tasted the terrifying might of his presence and hadn’t even known it. It was all just as he’d hoped. Though he’d taken a meal with this little display of his, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t have an ulterior motive. The smell of her is beginning to overwhelm his senses now, slowly but surely overpowering the scent of the rest. Wasting no time in his pursuit, he fades into the cold night like a spectre. The trail ahead was crystal clear now.

He follows the aroma carefully, thoroughly, wading through the currant of the town on weightless feet. Her presence is certain and undeniable, and he can practically see the path ahead, stretching off into the emptiness. She was out there, just waiting for him just as he had done for her. She didn’t even know who and what she was, what she was destined for; the full weight of her existence, the time her soul spent dormant in his domain, just biding its time before being made flesh. But she would know in time, oh yes she would; she would know her purpose and her destiny, how her fate was irrevocably tied to his. He couldn’t wait to meet her, touch her, hold her in his arms. He thinks of more lewd, lascivious things too; ways he could make her wail and warble and sing for him, for he knew she had the loveliest voice. He wears a giddy grin, buckteeth poking out over his lips as he looms ever closer, following the map that had been laid out before him.

He lets his mind wander as he slithers through the town thoroughfares, paying no mind to all the local landmarks he passes, little shops in the downtown or street signs on corners. He thinks of a lot of things; what he should do when he finds her, ways he could make her laugh, ways he could win her favor, make her love him at hello. He didn’t want to scare her with his presence. Oh no, not now. Couldn’t risk it, not when she was so close within his grasp. He thinks on the family belonging to the boy, on the older brother the child mentioned, and he salivates. Bill, he had said his name was. He could sense the pain and misery in the boy, could feel and taste how he utterly loathed himself for having had a hand in his brother’s disappearance, even in nights past as he slept silently in his bed, saddled with such inner turmoil in his unconscious mind. This one would surely make for a meal as satisfying as the one before, in due time and process. He would take and take from this town, anyone he pleased, and they would remain ever docile to his wicked whims as always. No one dared challenge his will, and no one ever would. Everyone belonged to him. The boy, his little friends, all who would ever walk in and out of this town. 

_ The girl. _ She belonged to him too, make no mistake about that. It didn’t matter how things went, how she might respond to his advances, his eventual attentions and affections. When all was said and done he would have her, and have her forever. It mattered not what she thought, she was simply destined for him. Of course, he wanted her to love him too, he wanted her to give herself to him willingly. He wanted to make her sick with longing until he was all she could think of, all she could ever hope to gain, but it wasn’t required. He could take her kicking and screaming if he needed to, and with time she would inevitably become resigned to her fate. She would grow to love him whether she wanted to or not, he would make sure of it.

But regardless, that was not what he wanted. Once she was found he would do anything and everything in his power to win her over, for what was more desirable in a mate than such shared devotion? It was a taste so completely unlike fear, and yet one just as tantalizing to his ancient palate. He had spent eons trying to imagine it, how it might roll off his tongue. A perfectly ripened fruit, a sweet, delectable jewel intended just for him; something only he was worthy or capable of savoring. She would not know anyone else, not like she would come to know him. He wanted her, wanted her love, unsoiled and untainted, and Pennywise  _ always _ got what he wanted.  _ Always  _ .

He just needed to find her, and his search for her scent was growing easier by the minute. She was unmistakable, like an ingrained memory of the smell of home lingering forever in the back of your consciousness. And as he wandered ever closer, she became stronger and more apparent in the threshold of the doorway. She was there, just calling, beckoning to him with all the captivating swell of an angel’s voice. And how spellbound he was…

He rediscovers corporeal form again, his feather-light feet touching upon the ground once more as he trudges on. With a few calculated twists and turns he finds himself rooted deep in the tresses of one of Derry’s oldest neighborhoods. She’s overpowering now, practically screaming out for him, her aroma a compelling beacon he cannot help but flit maddeningly towards. He can taste her, taste her dreams, dripping with unrest and discomfort and he shivers with a sense of perverse pleasure to know that he was most certainly the cause of it. The bells on his suit jingle. The thought of her, so cute and trembling feverishly under the covers, trying so desperately to forget what she saw, and all because of him, though she didn't know it. Why, it makes him positively warm inside. He smiles fondly, rounding another corner, darkened sidewalk scraping beneath his heels with every step. He wanted so badly to comfort her in her unease, take her into his warm embrace, give her a shoulder to cry on. How he would make her forget it all, all with a few sweeping touches and gently spoken words. And she would fawn under his gaze, sigh with contented adoration for him, entrusting herself to his care just as she was meant.

He is just on the precipice of finding her now, he’s narrowed it down to a single street. The heart within his eldritch body pulses with such excitement and anticipation. His girl, his soulmate… So close, so near that he can sense the fragile breath in her lungs, just waiting for him. He makes his way down the street, following the strength of her scent, letting the thrill of the chase consume him now. His eyes glint fiercely in the sinister dark of Derry and his stride becomes quicker, more fluid. He's almost running, but it's like he’s wading through a current of slick oil. Then, he stops, his stare finally landing. There stands a house, small and modest, one story, in between two bigger houses. There are no cars in the driveway; the windows are obscured by curtains and the lawn is unkempt. And inside… There she was. He could smell her. He fades out of sight once more, his physical being dwindling into a gust of wind.

He looms overhead, he looks in. His eyes trail over the various rooms and then… 

Time stops. 

He finds her, asleep in bed, curled up on her side, cheeks rosy, chest heaving and… He melts. Oh, she’s just as lovely as he always knew she would be… Words simply can’t describe it… She’s radiant and gorgeous even in repose and he has to hold himself back, telling himself,  _ urging _ himself to approach this with the utmost of care. Pennywise was an impulsive, impetuous creature, driven by raw need, primal desire. He wanted so badly to take her, take her now, but he knew he couldn’t. No, as much as he wished he could have her, whisk her away to his lair without a second thought, it would take a little more tact than that. He needed to win her, woo her. He needed to shape her mind, and make himself as much a part of her as she was of him.

His boots land gently on the hardwood in her room and he takes ginger, delicate steps over to her bedside, careful to be silent, careful not to wake her. It seems as though she’s just managed to doze off. He regards her face with genuine curiosity, leaning closer, snuffling silently at the stillness of her form and trying to taste the stewing flavor of her mind. There’s still fear and unease clouding her consciousness, just as he thought, and she mutters discontentedly in her sleep. Must be having a nightmare. Poor girl, poor little lamb… A massive gloved hand reaches out as if to stroke her cheek but stops. He pulls back. Not now. Soon, but not now.

There’s suddenly a storm of knocks at the front door and he jumps, instinctively blending into the shadows once more when her eyes flutter open in the darkness. She groans, slipping out of bed. Pennywise cannot resist letting his eyes linger appreciatively between her legs as she pulls on a pair of shorts.

“God, just who the fuck is knocking at my door at the ass crack of night? Jesus...” She mutters, opening her bedroom door and slinking out. He follows behind. Mayor Jello follows too, but not before hissing at nothing in the doorway.

She makes her way to the front door and peeks out of the curtain, and there stands four kids. Four Losers to be exact. She sighs and unlocks the deadbolt. She swings open the door. Pennywise looms over her shoulder, sightless and soundless and irritated at the sudden interruption just as much as she. She rubs the sleep from her eyes when she speaks.

“Guys, I have work tomorrow, this is  _ not _ the time for a visit.”

“Bro, did you see the shit that happened on Channel 27?”

“Yeah we almost fuckin’ shit ourselves.”

“C-Can we come in?” The presence of Bill among them is notable.

She obliges, tiredly inviting them in as she shuts the door behind them.

“Channel 27?” she says, feigning confusion. Some part of her knew exactly what they were talking about.

"Yeah dude we were having a sleepover and-and we were watching TV."

"Absolutely nothing on, might I add. Couldn't find one single nudie channel."

"Shut up Richie. So we were watching TV, and we were flipping the channels, and then we found this gray screen."

"K-kinda looked like s-s-static."

They all sit down. Angel yawns.

"Yeah, but there was like… A shadow. And it sounded like it might have been saying something?" Eddie tries his best to explain.

"But that noise was too loud." Stan interjects.

"Yeah dude, my ears were fucking bleeding."

"So you all saw a ghost, is that it?" She says, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. It was definitely too cold for shorts at this time of night. She missed her blanket.

"We don't know  _ what _ we saw. It was like fucking Poltergeist."

"Y-yeah. We were… T-too scared to go to sleep, and we didn't want to g-go home, s-so we came here."

"We hope you don't mind."

"I don't mind." Angel says, feeling almost honored but nonetheless still irked and most importantly still sleepy. "You just… Woke me up."

"Sorry, Anj." Richie sounds genuinely apologetic for once.

"Yeah, sorry. We thought you might still be up- sometimes you stay up late."

"Yeah, not on a weekday Eds." She sighs. She favors them with a quizzical glance. "Also, sleepover on a Thursday?"

Richie shrugs. "Eh, we all go to school in the same place. My parents don't mind."

"So what's your endgame here?" She asks.

Eddie looks sheepish. "Well, we were… Kind of hoping you might let us stay the night."

" _ No _ ."

"Oh come  _ on _ !" Richie whines. "We've practically done that a million times already." 

"I have work, and you have school." She says, trying to be firm and adult-like. She had to set  _ some _ guidelines. Or try, anyway.

"Oh  _ please _ , Angel. You won't even know we're here. We'll be gone in the morning before you even wake up."

"Yeah man don't be a square."

"I'll give you all the change in my backpack."

" _ Please _ ."

She stares at them silently. She sighs, and then smiles with a chuckle. "...Fine. Keep the change, just be out before 6:30. Promise promise?"

"Promise  _ promise _ ." They all agree in unison.

"Alright then." She says, making to get up. "Now I don't wanna hear another damn peep out of you guys. If y'all wake me up one more time, I'm crackin' skulls. Spare blankets are in the linen closet, I'm trusting you to split them up amongst you, and fold 'em 'fore you leave.  _ Goodnight _ ."

When she closes her bedroom door behind her, a pang of fresh unease washes over her. So...She wasn't crazy? She wasn't the only one somehow…? She simply didn't know what to make of it. What she'd seen, what on earth it meant… And if it would happen again. She crawls into bed with a shiver and rolls onto her side again. She hugs one of her pillows to her chest and just tries to forget it. Just forget it, like everything else. She falls back asleep, her worries slowly but surely fading from her exhausted mind.

Pennywise stands by her bedside, watching her, silent and furious. The luck of it! The pure, unmitigated terrible luck! He'd spent such time searching and pining for her; he'd finally tracked her down, finally found her, had  _ finally _ laid eyes on her, and had been so completely and rudely interrupted. He knew he couldn't meet her yet, not formally… But he wanted to look on her face just a little bit longer, so gorgeous with fear and unease steeping on her lovely features. She was just so beautiful, she was perfect for him… He hadn't counted on those little brats showing up and cramping his style. Worse yet, he didn't count on  _ him _ showing up. The boy, the brother of his first blood, still fresh with wounds from his recent loss. If she knew, if she found out what he'd done, before he got a chance to draw her in, take her under his spell… He dares not to think of it. He couldn't let it ruin his plans. He  _ couldn't _ . 

His essence evaporates into the air once more and he makes his way back to his lair to regroup, thinking all the while.

██████ ██ "Angel" Graider. The name rolls off his tongue, cute and elegant, simple and sweet. The name of the girl who was meant for him, who was created just to love him, just to lay by his side… He's full of resolve, embittered and emboldened by this new development as he returns to his home. No, it simply didn't matter...

"Mark my words, I'll be coming for you, my love."

_...One way or another. _


	5. Paradigm Shift

The next day, there was another child reported missing. Thomas Hoffman, only child of Linda and David Hoffman, went to bed early Sunday evening only to have disappeared by morning. Angel reads about it in the Derry Herald, a grimace playing on her face as she sips at her coffee. It tasted more bitter than usual. Derry more or less proceeded with its business as it often did, morbidly choosing to disregard the string of aberrations rather than address them as usual. The police did their due as much as they could, or as much as they could be bothered to. The police, consisting of Derry's own citizens, weren't shining pinnacles of justice just because they wore a badge. They were just as low and shady and indifferent as the rest, the only difference was they carried guns and nightsticks. 

She’d mostly forgotten the unease of the night previous by this point. Angel had found that, much like any other nightmare, this one would fade from her mind little more than an hour after she rolled out of bed in the morning. The worst of it was mostly an afterthought now, the only thing lingering in the depths of her subconscious as she got ready for work being that ever-persistent niggling feeling of confusion over what she saw. As she walked her commute and began the early hours of her shift she found herself trying to justify it with the most likely scenario, that she and the kids had simply stumbled onto a scary movie of some kind, maybe a b-list title that wasn’t well known finding its way onto local access or something. But that voice she’d heard behind her… It was like a ghost of some kind. She wasn’t even particularly sure how much she believed in ghosts, or the supernatural in general, but it was hard to shake all the same. She shivers, adopting a smile when a patron comes up to hand their books to her for checkout. The whole thing was strange, and certainly disarming. She tried to forget it entirely as she went through the day, thinking that it must have certainly been a one time occurrence. She hoped, anyway.

As the day reaches its halfway point, Angel sighs with a yawn and clocks out to take her lunch break. Walking out the green double doors to the library, she’s greeted by the gentle chill of the wind guiding her towards the courtyard across the way. She looks both ways at the roadway before her, discerning the safety of her path and then she continues on her way, meandering on light, carefree feet until she reaches the beacon of the town monument, a towering spire carved with names of the fallen from an old, great war. Though its purpose is a grim reminder of those that had been lost, she always looked on it with a sort of comfort. It was one of those things she’d always recalled seeing in the town as she’d grown up, a remarkable edifice that spoke of the town’s storied history. She liked to sit on its stone ridges at lunch break, idly tracing the etched epitaph with her finger while she read or wrote or doodled in her little notebook. Angel truthfully didn’t eat very much during those breaks, choosing instead to occupy what little free time she had with whatever productive activity came into her mind. It didn’t matter very much; she could eat later at home anyway, and she found that her drive for creativity thrived most in the fresh air, so she was inclined to take advantage of it.

When she comes up to the stone monument she smoothes down her skirt and carefully takes a seat. Setting her lunch box down (an old, dented one, boasting the poster art for The Empire Strikes Back), she opens her notebook to the next empty page and taps the tip of her pencil against the paper in thought. She starts to sketch the tree on the path before her; an old, majestic pine stretching skyward into the blue, even more impressive in height than that of the memorial. Its branches are flush with rich viridescent quills, fanning out in tiers that sway in the gentle wind. She’s studious in her scrutiny, looking up every so often to scan the details of the branches, making quick, sharp swipes with her pencil that scritch against the paper to depict pine needles. Her eyes start to travel down the intricate veins and roots of the tree trunk until they fall upon the ground, and her gaze is met with an unusual sight. 

There, laying against the base of the tree is a plucked bouquet of sunflowers, and she’s perplexed as to how she hadn’t noticed them until now. After regarding them for a moment, she finds herself on her feet again, and she gingerly walks the path up to the tree. As she draws closer, they start to look visibly more dead and wilted, almost as though they’d been lying there for days, even weeks. She cocks her head in confusion, observing the sickly green stems and the way the frail petals droop sadly against the grass. She finds herself hit with a pang of pity for them, and with gentle hands she scoops them up off the ground. She turns the bouquet in her fingers to study them. They feel so fragile, almost as though they might crumble into dust if she was too rough with them. She wonders if they had been left for someone. Surely, if they were, they wouldn’t have been there so long, right? Somebody would have taken them? She looks around, casting a quick glance on her surroundings. There’s nary a soul to be found other than the occasional passing streetcar, and all she can hear is the rustling of tree leaves around her. 

Pausing, she gets up again, taking the sunflowers into her arms before walking back to her seat on the monument. She sits down with a heaving sigh and gives them another long, studious look of contemplation. Despite their lack of vitality, she finds them the slightest bit beautiful in their wilt and decay, and she admires how the shriveled petals droop like hair soaked in the rain. She seals them within the protection of her notebook, smoothing down the cover with a careful hand. The flowers, she decided, were enough of a pleasant discovery that she didn’t mind keeping them, and she’d feel bad leaving them behind anyway. Break was almost over; she supposed she should be going back inside now. She gets up, taking her lunchbox with her, and clocks back in to finish her shift. She doesn’t notice the eyes travelling over her form in longing, brilliant amber suns glinting with joy hidden within the emerald needles when they see her accept the gift that had been left for her, a token of love and a promise of protection. Its resonant purr harmonizes with the trees and trilling crickets, and for one blissful second, Derry is safe and content. 

The rest of her shift was relatively ordinary. Her days at the library tended to follow a pretty cut and dry routine, and it was relatively easy to follow after about a month of religious adherence. She would start by taking the front desk for a couple hours of checkout duty and then take her lunch break. After that she’d sort through any books that had made their way into the return pile, put them back in their proper places, tidy up any messy bookshelves and then spend the majority of the rest of her shift assisting with checkout again. She would then cap off the day by taking a broom to the floors, dusting and wiping down all the bookshelves before clocking out for the evening. The latter half of the day tended to pass more slowly than the former, as her only occupation here was simply waiting for a patron to come up with their book selections, and pickings were slim in the way of frequenters to the establishment during these lazy afternoon hours. She would tell the occasional rowdy child to pipe down and pretend to look busy whenever the librarian manifested in the room, but beyond that she often struggled with ways to pass the time. She almost looked forward to cleanup at the end of the day, as pushing around a broom to sweep away errant dust on the floor was far more engrossing than sitting at a desk and checking out books for a bunch of belligerent and thankless schoolchildren. At the very least, she granted, it still beat working the Bassey Park fairgrounds. Anything was better than the Bassey Park fairgrounds though.

Coming home after another day in the books, she kicks off her shoes and immediately adjourns to her bedroom with a sigh, setting her bag down on her bed so she can undress for the evening. She throws on a pair of pajama pants and an old band shirt (announcing the 1985 tour dates of Metallica’s Ride the Lightning), her eyes wandering idly over the eclectically decorated walls of her bedroom as she does so. She throws her clothes in the hamper by the door of her closet, stuffing them down in the overladen basket as much as she was able. She desperately needed to do laundry, but she’d been putting it off lately just as she’d been putting off everything else. Call it a symptom of her grief from Georgie’s recent disappearance. That’s what she told herself, anyway.

She starts to make her way out of her room so she can head to the kitchen for dinner, but she stops at the threshold of the doorway when she hears something hit the floor behind her. She turns and finds her purse leaning over the edge of her mattress, and on the hardwood floor below, the notebook with the dead flowers peeking out of it. Bending to pick it up off the floor, she flips open to the page containing the wilted sunflowers and delicately extracts them from the paper. She needed something else, a heavier book to house them for proper pressing. She retrieves a sizable selection from her bookshelf, a novel of respectable length detailing the fallout of a global pandemic and its impact on the society of the remaining survivors, her favorite being a kind and considerate deaf-mute who was meant to be the leader of the stand against the enemy. It was a book inherited from her parents, and one she’d read in grade school much to the chagrin of observing teachers. It was one of the first in her collection, and a book she often revisited from time to time. 

She opens the book, savoring the sound of the spine’s creak and the old, musty smell of the pages when she leafs through the first few chapters. Her pace starts to hasten just a little as she tries to find a suitable place for the flowers, though careful not to tear the fragile paper. She notices something poking out of one of the pages.

“Oh shit, I completely forgot about this!” She takes it out and sets the book down.

It’s a concert ticket she bought back in August. Bad Religion was touring for their third album and one of the dates happened to be in town so she pounced on the opportunity to see them live, putting in a mail order at the Rite-Aid near her house the second she got word. It was that Friday night at the Derry Riverside Terrace, and she’d paid for the ticket with what was left of her first check from the library. She must have forgotten it ever since… Well, ever since Georgie went missing. If she remembered correctly, the ticket came in the mail not a day or two after, just shortly after his disappearance. After a moment of sad reflection she places the ticket on her bedside table so as not to forget again and returns to what she was doing, handily selecting a passage out of the book to deposit the sunflowers to before she closes it with finality. She places the book back on her bookshelf and shuts off the light, stepping out and closing the door behind her. Looks like she was going to a concert on Friday.

**~~~~**

The next day had started out predictably the same as the last. The work week was consistent and formulaic in its structure; that is, Angel woke up early every morning, sometimes entertaining visits from the rambunctious Losers. She’d get dressed and make her commute to work; she would put in the hours at the library from about eight in the morning to four in the afternoon, come home, eat dinner, and go to bed. Sometimes, if she was willing to neglect her sleep schedule in the name of leisure, she’d take an extra hour for TV time, sorting through the various channels for anything of interest while she lounged lazily on the couch and pawed through a bag of cheese doodles or something else equally lacking in nutritious substance. Today didn’t offer much to keep her attention so far, save for an incident early in the morning involving a loud, shrieking child disturbing the peace because his mother wouldn’t let him check out the same book about dinosaurs for the third time in a month. She’d diffused the situation rather easily, assuaging the boy’s hysteria by recommending another book of similar subject matter that not only included more pictures but presented them in popup form, which he accepted with glee characteristic of a five year old child. Everything else proceeded as normal.

She takes to the wagon of returns after coming back from lunch break, ready to make her way through the pile of books at a leisurely pace so she can eat through the next two hours with ease, take her first fifteen, and meander through the monotony of the coming afternoon. She looked forward to the weekend, and more specifically that Friday evening, finding now that the incentive of a concert to attend made the prospect of a full work week seem much less daunting. Though it had just barely started, the promise of a chance to unwind after all that had happened was enough to keep her going, and she attended to her duties with care and diligence so as to properly earn her keep, knowing that a job well done made the satisfaction of relaxing much more rewarding in the end. She continues through the pile in her cart, walking along the rows and placing titles back in their designated places, regarding each book with halfhearted curiosity when she does so. 

Her task takes her all over the library and back again, replacing books of all different kinds from novellas to history books to biographies and collections of poetry. With all of about five books left in her pile she’s just about done, and when she shelves the next book on the cart her eyes fall on a black binder below it marked “Local Census Records (c. 1750-1850)”. She raises an eyebrow. She didn’t know the library kept things like this, it seemed strange to say the least. Out of curiosity, she opens it up for a moment, leafing through the pages quickly so as not to be caught. Seemed fairly standard; it documented things such as the names, ages, and races of people in a given household as well as population data for the town of Derry in general. She closes it up again. Where would she even put something like this? She had an idea of where, but she wanted to make sure.

She approaches the librarian cautiously, who is engrossed in work of her own at her desk. 

“Yes, Ms. Graider?” She says, without looking up.

“I--Oh.” She stumbles. She holds up the folder. “I just… Wasn’t sure where to put this back.”

“Archives.” She says, squinting at some fine print in front of her. She nods wordlessly to her left side. 

“Oh, uh… Okay. Thanks.”

The librarian doesn’t dignify her with a response, so she clears her throat quietly and moves on. 

The archives were a darkened, moody place on the far side of the library, a place she quite frankly feared to go. She’d been meaning to go back there just to see what lay beyond the corridor, as curiosity was inevitable in the presence of the unknown, but her constant occupation in attending to other duties kept her from indulging that curiosity in the time she had worked here so far. She didn’t particularly mind, but now she couldn’t exactly avoid going down there. She abandons her cart for the time being, and with binder in hand she makes her way toward the staircase. Trudging up the small flight of stairs into the adjoining room, she makes her way down from another set of steps around the corner, following them into a dimly lit space lined wall to wall with shelves. There are rows of bins on each shelf, all marked with numbered labels. She walks through them, squinting in the darkness at the tags and trying in vain to discern where exactly she might put the binder back. She really should have asked the librarian, but she completely spaced. She seemed really busy anyway, and Angel found it best not to bother her anymore than she needed to.

She couldn’t make heads or tails of the labels, and as time went on she was beginning to get a little self conscious of how long she’d been down there. If only it wasn’t so dark… She finds herself wishing she’d brought a flashlight, but just as she’s about to admit defeat and make her way back to the librarian’s desk she hears something clatter against the floor a few feet away. Pausing, she cautiously rounds the corner to investigate, and her eye catches on something glinting on the polished hardwood. It's something that twinkles and begs for attention in the black, luring her toward its beckoning light, and she wonders what it could possibly be. She walks toward it carefully and slowly, and as she closes the distance its light dwindles like that of a mirage on sweltering pavement. She nestles the binder in the crook of one arm and bends down to pick up the wayward object. It's cool and smooth against her fingers and upon closer inspection she comes to realize that it’s a marble. Though she can’t make out much detail in the light of the room, she admires its golden color and the way it glows almost warmly in the palm of her hand, and when she looks up she realizes where she’s standing. In front of her, labeled very clearly, is a bin marked “Census Archives.” She didn’t know how on earth she managed to miss that. She sighs and opens the bin, slipping the binder back inside. She regards the marble in her other hand, and then after a moment of deliberation slips it into her pocket. A good luck charm perhaps. She heads back upstairs to finish the rest of the returns. Once she is gone, the papers in the archives rustle feverishly like a great gust of wind has swept through the room, and the sound is almost like that of an insect, chittering and chirupping with excitement.

**~~~~**

The next day goes by relatively quickly, and before she knows it, the work week is more than halfway over. She drinks in the beautiful scenery on the walk home from the library on Wednesday, admiring how the cheerful blue in the sky peeks through a sea of vivid orange, the way all the trees dance to the rhythm of the wind’s gentle whispers. Crisp leaves crunch beneath the heels of her Doc Martens as she strolls down Kansas Street, crossing over to Witcham when the streets intersect and continuing on her way home. She passes Derry Elementary as she always does, casting a less than fond glance on the place she’d practically grown up in. Despite her best efforts, faint memories start to return as she regards the familiar brick building with a wistful stare. She remembers the name-calling and the merciless derision; she remembers her first day in kindergarten where a mean boy pissed all over her arts and crafts project and made her cry her eyes out. She remembers all the rumors and the whispers of her peers when she was older, who made up whatever ugly or unsavory gossip they dared and passed it off as the gospel truth without knowing the first thing about who she actually was. She remembers how she made it through pretending not to care, and how much it all still ate away at her self esteem regardless. The way it affected her and her overall wellbeing, manifesting in an onset of depression during her childhood that only worsened over the years. But then, just as quickly as the school fades from view over her shoulder, those memories thankfully start to ebb away again, retreating back into the recesses of her mind where they had come from in the first place. She blinks back a couple bitter tears in her eyes all the same, keeping her eyes rooted to the ground now as she counts each groove crossing underneath her feet on the sidewalk. It was fine, she was okay. She supposed today was just another one of those days where these kinds of thoughts hit harder than they usually did. She raises her chin to look to the sky again but instead finds herself hit in the face by a low hanging tree branch. She stops dead, cursing into the empty street.

“Ow,  _ shit! _ ” She rubs her nose tenderly with a groan. Suddenly, all thoughts from before are completely gone. “Should  _ really _ watch where you’re going, genius.” Opening her eyes again, they fall on the offending limb in front of her, an arm belonging to a great red maple tree. Several small branches stick out from the main appendage, and she notes something dangling off the one most adjacent to her line of sight.

A ring, a silver one, tarnished and old with a chipped band hangs there, just waiting for gravity to take it plummeting to the concrete with another well-placed gust of wind, almost inviting her to pluck it right off the tree branch like a steel-forged fruit. She can’t deny that she’s most certainly tempted despite her bewilderment, and after a moment she relents, gently taking it down to examine it. There appears to be some kind of stone in the middle, an iridescent gem she can only assume is a fire opal of some kind, gleaming brilliantly against the reflected light of the sun. She looks around. Did this… Did this belong to someone? Would it be bad if she took it? She wouldn't even know where to take it if it did; Derry didn't exactly have a lost and found. For curiosity’s sake, she slips the band over her ring finger to discern the size and it slides effortlessly into place, resting daintily above her knuckle. A perfect fit. Something in her head tells her to take the ring, take it home, keep it, and despite her best efforts she cannot argue with such an instinct. She slides the ring off once more and drops it into her pocket before continuing on her way, ignoring any pangs of guilt seeking to worm their way into her conscience. 

It really was strange. She kept thinking about it every time her fingers closed around the cool glass marble in her pocket, her thumb rolling over the spherical surface in thought while she laid on her couch at home the next day. She thought about it every time she let her eyes fall on the book sitting on the shelf by her nightstand or played with the ring on her finger, the one she’d taken from the maple branch the afternoon before. Ever since that incident on Sunday, she had started to get the vague sense that something had changed. Life was the same as it ever was, but she was getting the feeling that there was something amiss, almost like something might have attached itself to her, something might be following her around. It had all started with the sunflowers. Truth be told, she had at first thought nothing of it, of finding them. She had assumed they'd been left for someone else and were merely a spurned token of affection, left to rot beneath the branches of that old, great pine until they decomposed into nothing under the heat of the sun. But the next day when she'd found the marble, that feeling had begun to settle in a little more. It might have seemed like a kind of odd coincidence at first, but the discovery of the opal ring that Wednesday afternoon had made her feel like it was more of a pattern than anything else.

So it left her to wonder; just what were the intentions of this thing, be it a person or something else entirely, whose attention she had captured? What were its intentions, and what might it do next? She seriously doubted that it was a person; the circumstances of the things she had found were just too peculiar, like she had simply kept stumbling into the right place at the right time. Despite her dubious grasp on the supernatural she always had the vague sense that Derry was affected by something beyond the ordinary, what with all the rumors and disappearances, and she believed that it was in play now more than ever. Based on what she had heard and what she had seen, she simply couldn't afford to rule out the possibility. Though she didn't quite understand the motives of this enigmatic force, she didn't particularly get the sense that it bore any ill will towards her. In fact, if these offerings were any indication, it could even be argued that it had a fondness for her, whatever it was, and might be looking out for her safety. Something that likely challenged whatever force of evil lurked within this town. A guardian angel of sorts. And with all the recent disappearances and general feeling of unease settling over everyone's heads, she could very much use a guardian angel right now. She found it confusing, but she didn't take it for granted. Good fortune in Derry was hard to come by.


	6. Angel's Guardian

Thursday was a curiosity in that it passed without much incident. Angel woke that morning to a hairball at the foot of her bed courtesy of Mayor Jello, but after she had gotten the mess cleaned up and thrown the comforter in the wash, she headed off to another mundane and uneventful day at the library. As she tended to her duties and watched the minutes tick by on the clock, she found herself stewing in anticipation of a sort. At first she thought it might just be jitters about the upcoming concert. Beside her reservations about big crowds of people, it’d been quite a while since she’d been to a live show; Derry wasn’t exactly known for booking the kinds of acts she found herself interested in. A lot of times she needed to go out of town to attend anything decent, usually to the likes of Augusta or Portland, and that was a significant trek to undertake on a weeknight. She didn’t exactly have a way out there beyond a taxi cab, either, and those could run up quite expensive tabs. For lack of time and financial means she often found herself sitting things out, with only the occasional outing for the sake of sanity. Derry _was_ a rather dull place to live, after all. 

But no, she was actually quite at ease about the concert. She had a bit of a game plan for the night, had been thinking about it all week really; she wanted to get there with plenty of time to spare, snag a t-shirt from the merch booth and maybe a patch for her jacket, make her way up to the front after the opening act was over and stay as close to the rail as humanly possible for the duration of the show. She debated the mosh pit but decided she’d rather opt out for this particular occasion, wanting to simply enjoy the music rather than get consumed in the capricious, wanton violence of the circle. That tended to be her standard procedure for concert-going. She liked to mosh for rougher, local acts she didn’t follow and sing along for bands she had a liking for. But despite her conclusive decision she still felt those butterflies in her stomach, more like buzzing bees humming away against the walls of her insides.

She’d been walking around all day, expecting to see _something,_ though that something was a little lost on her. Another marble, a lost earring, perhaps a busted keychain lying abandoned on the ground, just waiting to be found by her wandering eyes. Gifts from a mysterious benefactor whom she couldn’t put a face or a name to, leaving behind offerings like a befriended magpie. After the sequence of the flowers, the marble, and the opal ring, she reasonably assumed that something else would follow, but nonetheless, it didn’t seem to be the case so far. She kept holding out for the possibility, even finding herself checking nooks and crannies all day wherever she could reasonably fathom the presence of a lost curio or trinket, but the effort was for naught. Even as she walked home she continued the search, even going so far as to eye the same red maple she’d passed on her way home Wednesday afternoon, for maybe there was a second ring to accompany the first dangling unassumingly from another branch. No such luck. 

It began to occur to her that perhaps all this was something of her own imagining. Though she couldn’t deny it was certainly bizarre, the things she found herself stumbling upon, there was all the likelihood that it was simply a strange coincidence and nothing more. It was a disappointment to be sure, but she would be lying if she said it wasn’t the more likely of the two scenarios. A guardian angel? Pfft, grow up. The world was too cruel for such things. More specifically, _Derry_ was too cruel for such things. If there was such a thing as a guardian angel around these parts, why were there so many disappearances and grisly happenings? Why was it all without consequence or closure? It simply didn’t make sense. If there really was such a thing, they were either lousy at their job or exceptionally negligent. Either way, it didn’t seem likely. She would do well to forget the notion entirely, for putting her fate in the hands of an imaginary protector seemed like it would get her into some nasty circumstances around here. 

Thursday came and went, and Friday came following after. The end of the week, and the day of the concert. Angel put in her hours at the library (yet another day without a finding, she notes disappointingly), and went home immediately to get ready for her dubious night on the town. The concert started at seven and she could waste no time, taking into account how long it would take her to coordinate her outfit and makeup on top of how long it would take her to get there. She quickly decides on an old, faded Descendents shirt tucked into a pair of high-waisted, black washed jeans. She puts her hair in a high ponytail and laces up her Doc Martens, taking to her full length mirror to get started on her makeup. Once she’s suitably satisfied with her eyeliner she details a little swirl jutting out from her waterline and fastens her favorite spiked choker about her neck. Before she leaves her bedroom, she takes out her trusty biker jacket, studded and spiked and festooned with an eclectic assortment of pins and patches, slipping it on and shutting the bedroom door behind her. She’s already called ahead for a taxi, and she’s simply waiting on it to arrive.

Once she hears the telltale sound of a horn outside the front of her house she bids an affectionate goodbye to Mayor Jello and sets out. The drive over to the Terrace is quiet; she’s not quite the talkative type with strangers so she keeps verbal distance from the cab driver and passes the time looking out the window instead. The town looks the same as ever. Derry hadn’t changed much in the years since she’d been living there; rather, it almost seemed as though it resisted change, like the town would simply collapse in on itself if anything truly challenged its status quo. When the cab turns from Witcham back onto Up-Mile-Hill she looks on the people meandering up and down the street, patronizing businesses and fulfilling errands with casual ease. From a distance they seem almost like dolls, walking to a predetermined destination at the hands of something else entirely, with only simulated autonomy to their wooden limbs. She presses her forehead against the glass and sighs.

The cab drops her at the curb of the Terrace. She pays her fare, gets out, and thanks the cab driver, who gives her a curt nod before driving off and leaving her to her destination. The merch table was a bit of a hectic mess unsurprisingly. Once Angel had crossed the threshold into the main hall she was overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people inside. Derry was such a small town that she was used to small turnouts; this, however, was anything but. She thought about it and decided it made sense. Bad Religion was garnering a bit of a following as of late, so she could only surmise that people must have showed up from out of town for this one. She finds the wait pleasantly quick as she moves from the tail end of the line into the front in no less than ten minutes or so. She stuffs her chosen tee into the pocket of her jeans and takes a deep breath before heading towards the sea of people congregated outside the stage. The sound of the opening act is cacophonous on the mounted speakers, some nameless hardcore band putting their heart and soul into their ten-song set and she finds rhythm in her feet as she moves through the crowd. The crowd resists her entry the further up she gets and she finds herself having to elbow past people, the spikes on her jacket doing the brunt of the work as she slowly but surely makes her way to the front. And then, once she reaches the safety of the rail she clings to it for dear life, letting the feedback from the close-by amps turn to static in her ears as she waits for the first show to end.

When the band finally takes the stage, she finds herself getting caught up in the energy of a live performance again, calling back in response to their interactions with the audience and singing along at the top of her lungs when they begin every new song in their set. Their energy on stage is on par with that of the circle right behind her and the lead singer is charismatic and expressive, wildly gesturing with his hands as he belts out the lyrics to songs she’d listened to a thousand times over, wearing out the vinyl on a brand new album and driving all the neighbors crazy. This album, in her opinion, was one every bit as engrossing to listen to as their first, a refreshing welcome back to their initial sound after a decided, less well-received departure in their second. She’d been following them ever since she’d gotten her hands on their 1985 EP Back to the Known, and they were very quickly becoming one of her favorite bands. The current song ends and the lead singer talks up the audience for a bit before announcing the next.

“Alright, this next one is from our new album Suffer, s’called Do What You Want. Okay- one, two, three _YA-HEY!_ ”

The band surges forward again into rhythmic, chaotic energy once more, calling the entire crowd forward in their deafening siren song. Angel sways with the sea of people, dancing and stomping her feet in tandem with the drum beats, calling out the lyrics and getting lost in them.

_Hey do what you want_

_But don’t do it around me_

_Idleness and dissipation breed apathy_

_I sit on my ass_

_All goddamn day_

_A misanthropic anthropoid with nothing to_

The circle behind her is a vortex, slowly pulling her towards the chaotic eye of the storm and away from the haven of the rail. She fights to keep her place but with one clumsy misstep she trips into the outer rim of the mosh pit. The inner core is alive with discordant, screaming misfits; running rampant, elbowing one another, punching, slamming, stomping. Contained chaos just begging to break free.

_Say what you must_

_Do all you can_

_Break all the fucking rules and_

_Go to hell with superman and_

_Die like a champion, ya-hey!_

The voices of the crowd are like a breathless, restless chorus and her voice is just one among hundreds blending seamlessly into one another. She finds herself succumbing to the energy of the circle, pushing and shoving with the rest of the outer rim until she herself is ushered into the center of it all. And from there it is every man for himself, struggling to stay upright in a maelstrom of mayhem and disarray; thrashing, each person leaping and pirouetting furiously in an endless, rolling gait to words of passionate anger. She tumbles headfirst into the rhythm and has no choice but to follow it, taking the perimeter of the circle at a jilted skip until she finds her stable footing again.

_Hey I don’t know_

_If the billions will survive_

_But I’ll believe in god_

_When one and one are five_

_My moniker is man and_

_I’m rotten to the core_

_I’ll tear down the building_

_Just to pass through the door_

She’s dizzy with exhilaration, now lost in the relentless, delirious disorder before her, adrenaline pumping through her veins as she shoulders into someone else, survival instincts of a sense consuming her in the moment as she fights to stay on her feet. She sees a path out of the circle and back to the rail, and as she rounds the circle for the umpteenth time, she lunges forward with a hand outstretched-

_So do what you must_

_Do all you can_

_Break all the fucking rules and_

_Go to hell with superman and_

_Die like a champion, ya-hey!_

Stinging pain bites her in the face and she hits the ground with a thud. The impact is enough to knock the wind out of her and she gasps air into her starving lungs as her sight starts to fade. A hand reaches down to pull her back up before the stampeding herd can trample her and she wastes no time, she grabs hold and pushes back up onto her feet again. The roaring crowd cheers as she catches her breath. The circle has calmed; she finds the strength to amble out of the crowd and make her way towards the bathroom to get herself cleaned up.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck _fuck!_ ”

She stares at herself in the mirror, looking down in dismay over the breast of her jacket. There’s a blank patch where a button had sat before, an old, yellowed one that read “Re-elect Graider for Council.” Inherited from her great grandfather, and very much irreplaceable. She must have lost it when she hit the ground. Finding her mood for the night soured by this unfortunate development, she spends the rest of the concert by the phone booth outside, listening to the concert from a distance as she calls for another cab. She tries not to let the self-hatred flow through her, trying very keenly not to let it turn into one of her infamous and self-destructive spirals. It wasn’t a huge deal. Or at least, that’s what she tried so earnestly to tell herself.

“Yes, can you come pick me up? I’m at Derry Riverside Terrace, just off Center Street by the Penobscot River. Okay, yes, thank you, I’ll be here.”

She hangs up.

“Shit, man…”

The ride home is silent and dismal. Derry is dim and black from the window of the cab, and it offers her no comfort as she rests her weary head against the frosty glass. The driver thankfully doesn’t offer much in the way of conversation, leaving her to stew in her quiet discontent until she’s dropped at the curb outside her house. She straightens her jacket over her shoulders and walks towards the front door, listening to the cab drive off behind her. She’d left it unlocked because she didn’t want to take her keys with her. It was fine; not like there was anything around her house that anyone in their right minds would want to steal around here anyway. Twisting the knob, she sets foot onto the polished hardwood, her boots thudding gently in the silence of the room as she does so. A meow greets her from the other room, and Mayor Jello comes sauntering in to wrap himself around her leg after she flicks on the light.

“Nice to see you too, pal. Been a long night, how about you?”

He doesn’t answer, but instead walks over to his food bowl. He starts pecking at it with his muzzle, seeming to disregard her now. She snorts.

“‘Kay then, I’ll leave you to it, Mr. Mayor. As for me, I’m heading to bed. I’ll leave the door cracked if you… You know, if you wanna come in- oh, what the hell am I saying, he knows the drill.” She says, now starting to talk to herself. She turns on her heel and kicks off her boots, leaving them by the doorway. Peeling off her socks, she tosses them into her laundry basket and starts to get undressed. She strips her bra from her chest, stretching with a big yawn as she casts it aside. With a wistful glance at the jacket sitting on her bed, she places it back on its hanger in the closet, stashing it out of sight so she wouldn't have to think about what she'd lost. Falling asleep, she forgets it all.

She sleeps in the next morning. It was her ritual to disregard alarms on the weekend, for there was simply no reason to get up early on days like these unless she explicitly had errands to attend to. The only alarm she wakes to is the biological one in her bladder, which has her stirring uncomfortably in her bed until she can take it no longer. Her eyes flutter open and she rubs them groggily, sitting upright to slip out of bed. Her feet land on the cold floor, one after the other, and she stretches with an indulgent yawn. The memories of dreams brush away from her mind like a schooner carried away by the waves and wind on an ocean shore, visible in the distance but fading slowly over the horizon with time. Derry seems deathly still and warm sheets ruffle quietly with the squeak of springs as she scoots forward off the mattress.

_Clack!_

She turns around in confusion, looking down to find a curious sight. There, laying innocently at her feet...Is her lost button. Her heart pounds in her chest as she picks it up, her mind racing a thousand miles a minute with more questions than she can keep up with. Shaking fingers brush against something on the back, and she turns it over to find a piece of folded paper tucked into the bronze pin. Pulling it out, she quickly scans over the words and her breath catches in her throat.

She’s speechless; a tingling warmth is starting to spread throughout her body. Her cheeks are getting red but the room is as cold as ever. She thinks of the feelings in her gut that had been building through the week, the persistent feeling of something new, something different. She thinks of all the things she found, the circumstances; how each little thing seemed to be left just for her and no one else. She remembers last night at the concert, and her encounter with whoever had saved her skin in the mosh pit. She thought it strange; their hand was silken and elegant against hers, and as she stared up into the sea of thrashing people she thought she could see two stars, gold and brilliant, staring back at her, but when she’d broken into the surface once more that hand had mysteriously disappeared, and the person along with it. The sky was black and soulless again, no signs of the lights that had beckoned her back. As she stands in the silence of the room, all existing skepticism once lingering in her consciousness had gone to the wayside now. Strange as it may seem, the answer to her was clear, having made itself unmistakable to her through the paper in her fingers.

“Lost and found.” The note says, and it's accented with a little heart. 

Maybe she had a guardian angel after all.


	7. Falling Into Place

Angel continued her routine as usual, and the calendar days of September fluttered off into the breeze of time at a steady pace until October followed shortly behind. In the time that had followed the concert, life had cantered to the same general beats as before, and she was pleased to find that the presence of her so-called guardian angel was becoming consistent. The gifts had continued well into the month, various little intricacies ranging from old jewelry to colorful beads and paper clips; stones in interesting shapes and textures and buttons from shirts and dresses that she kept finding in little crevices around town. Her favorite so far had been three pearl buttons in the shape of hearts she’d found one afternoon by a sewer grate at Jackson Street and Witcham; she fashioned two of them into earrings and had begun wearing the third one as a pendant about her neck. Though she’d always felt a general sense of unease growing up in Derry, the thought of something looking out for her wellbeing made her feel a sense of comfort she couldn’t deny. Though she wasn’t foolish enough to challenge that sense of comfort, she could at the very least enjoy the boost in confidence it brought her. It made things just a little easier.

Work was a well-oiled machine by this point. Having worked at the library for almost two full months, Angel had by this point settled into the rhythm with even more ease than before; she’d gotten to know the shelves and the ins and outs of the library intimately and could now assist in the needs of the patrons with much more competence than before. She’d even found her fear of the archives assuaged, knowing now that all that lay below the stairway was a bunch of musty old records of the town and nothing more, not a monster or a crazed killer lurking in the darkness to take her for their next victim. Speaking of town records, Angel found herself compelled to finally start reading through that book she’d checked out earlier in the month following the continuing pattern of disappearances, taking time in the evenings at home to carefully read it at her leisure, usually with a cup of tea of some kind to warm her bones and keep her company while she followed the lurid tales contained within. The History of Old Derry was an interesting read indeed, and confirmed to Angel a truth she had known for a while, that being that her hometown was not without skeletons in its closet. Yes, Derry’s history was… Decidedly dark, not that she was at all surprised. A list of grisly happenstances seemed to marr the annals of its past, and as she scans through the various articles of documentation she comes to the conclusion that Derry was most certainly haunted by something, though the specifics of that something were still largely unknown to her as she was sure they were equally as unknown to just about anyone else. 

To tell the truth, even if there was a ghost or a monster of some kind lurking about in the shadows, there was the vague likelihood that this force of nature simply had nothing to do with the disappearances at all. Hell, they could be two entirely separate anomalies just as the apparent existence of her protector, and maybe she was simply reading too much into it. Angel was all too tempted to believe the latter, knowing very well her track record in doing just such a thing. She was rather a paranoid girl, always on the muted assumption that people were rife with ulterior motives, that they were out to get her somehow. Yes, she could mostly suppress it, but that didn’t change the fact that those thoughts plagued her consciousness all the same, sometimes even to the point of her own detriment. She couldn’t help it, nor could she shake it anymore than she could shake the feeling that something in Derry simply wasn’t right. Trouble was, even if there was something bigger at play here, what chance did she or anyone else have at stopping it? 

As she continues reading, something else curious makes itself apparent to her. Each string of disappearances, stretching back into the 1800s, was separated by something of a three decade gap. Twenty-seven years to be exact, or very nearly. Come to think of it, she remembered seeing that pattern at a glance when she’d returned those census records too, though she hadn’t realized it at the time. She tries to do the math in her head for clarity before giving up and scratching it down on a piece of leftover mail sitting on her coffee table. As she looks at the dates she realizes her math is in fact correct and she frowns. That was… Peculiar to say the least.

In that moment she gets interrupted by a melodramatic meow and she puts down her book. 

“Mayor Jello? What’s up?” She says, getting up from the couch. Mayor Jello stalks around her legs in a circle before sitting down. He meows again.

“Hungry?”

His eyes dart into the air and he hisses.

“Okay, okay,  _ jeez. _ ” She says, making her way over to a kitchen cabinet.

Pennywise hovers over her shoulder, quiet and observant. He follows her pace around the kitchen, keeping his eyes rooted… Somewhere a little lower than her back and watches her as she pulls a bag of cat food from a shelf. He had come back to watch her in the following evenings, finding himself compelled and so allured by her growing reception to his gifts that he simply couldn’t help himself. Even if he couldn’t be with her now, he still wanted to see her. He wanted to see her live and breathe, walk and talk and be her beautifully uncensored self around him. He wanted to know her more in a way that his ingrained knowledge of her simply couldn’t offer. He wanted to experience her in the flesh, uninhibited and authentic. And nothing, not those children or her family or the damn cat or the entire town of Derry could keep him from her, from taking what was rightfully his in all eventuality. He would move in on her when the time was ripe and no one could hope to stop him. But for now, he was content to simply watch, to observe, to learn. To formulate his plan and pull the strings until it all unfolded in his favor.

And all the while, as he spent those blissful moments in her presence, he had begun snooping around her home in his own leisurely way, taking little glances at things here and there, letting a smile creep on his face at all her little trinkets and baubles and curiosities. She was such an odd girl. There was a bookcase full of vinyl records and a cabinet in the kitchen full of mismatched plates, bowls, and cups. There were posters of various movies adorning the walls of the living room, titles like  _ The Breakfast Club, Nightmare on Elm Street, A Clockwork Orange  _ and something called  _ The Shining. _ Magazines and books from assorted authors were scattered around the tables, mostly grisly horror novels and the odd Edward Gorey title, one of which was opened up to a random page on the dining room table accompanied by ink drawings right beside it. He deduced that she must have been trying to mimic the art style. It was a haven of pop culture, and a very colorful representation of who she was as a person that charmed him to no end. In the time that he had been spending with her, as he learned more and more about who she was, getting to know her so intimately without her knowledge, he had started to formulate his plan with a little more detail. It had already been set in motion with the gifts he’d been leaving, and he would only continue his manipulations as time went on. 

He remembered how delighted he’d been, one evening when he’d come to visit, when he’d truly seen the path of what he must do to win her. He had come late in the day, had walked in on her asleep in bed, taking a long nap after a hard shift at work and as he spent so many minutes just studying her sleeping face, one curious eye of his began to wander about the room. It starts by trailing lasciviously over her figure and then it finds its way over to the far side of her room. Her bedroom is even more eclectic than the living room; its covered wall to wall with keepsakes from various memories like a painted banner of her school’s mascot for a competition of some sort, a letterman patch for four years participation in the marching band, several concert ticket stubs, different pieces of ghoulishly macabre art she’d done and photo booth strips of her and her friends from years past. Even a few with her and those brat kids, he notes with displeasure. But his chagrin had slowly melted into elation when that eye finally stumbled upon her closet. There, in the shade of the cupboard, is something wonderful, something that assures him of what he has known for so long, that she was meant for him in so many ways that she wasn’t even aware of. Ways that he would take such unmitigated delight in exploiting. Yes, with seeds planted, watered and nurtured, he would see the fruits of his labor bloom with time, and he knew exactly how he might do it as he looked upon the dedicated shrine of little clown figurines with fascination and glee.

Ever since that wondrous revelation, Pennywise could not help but let a devilish smirk creep across his face whenever he found her again. Regardless of however much she might hide herself, her  _ true _ self, from the outside world, there was one thing, one force on this miserable planet she could never hope to hide from, and that was him. Oh yes, Pennywise would get to know her more intimately than he would ever get to know anyone else, more than any poor victim of his manipulations for the sake of feeding or cheap entertainment, and she would return the favor. She would spend her days so sick with fascination for him, a luring poisonous potion she will be powerless to resist, and she will not want anything else for herself. It makes him giddy, the thought of it, and as he looms about the living room, looking on various items of interest that delighted smile sours at the discovery of the book on the coffee table. Hadn’t noticed that before. With deliberate intent he strides over to the cat, busy eating at his bowl, and runs a devious, silken palm down his back. The cat yowls with a jump and bolts from his touch with another hiss, hiding behind a nearby chair leg. Angel scrambles up from the couch again to regard him with exasperation. 

“Jello, what is your problem tonight?!  _ Jesus!! _ ”

In the following commotion he sneers smugly at the reprimanded animal, slipping past Angel on nimble feet and whisking the book out of sight. Then, his aura fades from the house.

_ I’ll be back, my love. Sooner than you think… _

The hairs on her neck stand on end and she shivers, looking down at Mayor Jello as she rubs her arms pensively.

“...Shit man… Think maybe there really  _ is _ a ghost? I just got a draft that felt like the goddamn north pole.”

Mayor Jello meows. She didn’t know whether he was agreeing or not, but she finds herself overcome with exhaustion now. She yawns.

“Bedtime, Mr. Mayor? I feel like I can barely keep my eyes open.” Jello rubs against her leg and quickly runs toward the bedroom in silent approval. She chuckles. “Okay then.”

She turns off the TV and sets the remote down, and then her eyes fall on the book sitting innocuously on the table. She picks it up and studies the cover.  _ A History of Old Derry _ . She sighs and places it back on the coffee table. Maybe she’ll come back to it tomorrow; there’s only so much murder and mayhem she can take in one day. When she goes to bed, leaving the book behind her, it mysteriously sets alight with infernal smoke, a sight unseen just as a fallen tree in an abandoned forest. It slowly burns until the color dissolves from green into red, and the cover now reads _ “Intermediate’s Guide to Bird-Watching” _ once more. 

**~~~~**

When Angel drags herself to work the next day, she doesn’t notice the absence of the book on her coffee table. She’d woken up fairly groggy and disoriented, and had frankly forced herself not to call out. She supposed today was just one of those days, one of those days where things were just harder to cope with. And, try as she might, she couldn’t ignore the sense that her life was beginning to decline. She knew the patterns. The urge to spend the hours of the day in bed were getting increasingly more tempting; She put off doing laundry, she neglected her personal hygiene, even took on a foul mood at the slightest of provocations. She found herself making stops at the pharmacy after work for unnecessary additions to her growing horde of junk food too, which she’d eat secretly and shamefully in the darkness of her TV-lit living room at night. She knew how much of a slippery slope this was, and still she couldn’t stop herself from succumbing to it, finding herself too overwhelmed with that all-too-familiar depressive malaise that never really subsided, and in fact thrived in times such as these. The loss of Georgie was still fresh in her mind, and the continuing slew of disappearances didn’t help to assuage her unease on the matter. It only exacerbated her unconscious predilection toward despondency, and it was getting harder to hide with each passing day.

Admittedly, there were some good days as well as bad, days when she could function a little more reliably. Hell, the past couple months had been notable in that regard, but she couldn’t deny that her energy was starting to slow, and that much dreaded stagnation was starting to settle in. Luckily, however, the good days happened to most coincide with her visits from the Losers, and if they didn’t… Well, in a pinch, Angel was rather good at putting on a happy face. After all, she’d been practicing all her life. She could sit and keep bemoaning the fact that this gig was slowly but surely turning out like the last, but the truth of it was she was simply too tired most of the time. She didn’t have the mental energy to mope, and had the good sense to at least acknowledge her blessings. She was good at her job; it was easy work, if a bit dull, and it was better than the constant harassment and verbal abuse she endured at her previous place of work. Though the routine seemed a tad punishing at times, with a consistent rhythm of work, eat, sleep, rinse and repeat nipping at her tired heels, she knew things could surely be a lot worse.

Pennywise could sense all of this as he watched over her. He spent a lot of time doing that nowadays. When he wasn’t feeding or terrorizing the town with his little games, Pennywise passed the hours simply looking on her from afar, choosing to hold off on continuing to be with her in person just so she wouldn’t be so continuously offput by otherworldly energy she didn’t yet understand. It wasn’t just because he was enamored with her, he did it for the sake of her own safety and wellbeing too. He knew how dangerous this town could be, partly out of his own meddling (mostly, if he were truly honest), and he wanted to make sure she wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire. She was the only thing, the only human being in this godforsaken town, even on this planet and this tiny speck of a universe whose welfare he gave a shit about other than his own. She might as well have been an extension of him, and he would see to it that nothing touch her or harm a single hair on her head. She was for him, and him only, and he would see her protected no matter the cost.

He staggered his meals too, making sure that each disappearance wasn’t too close to the last. He knew she was a smart girl; she already had an inkling of what was going on, of what role he played in the town’s history, and although she hadn’t put all the pieces together yet she was sure she would in time. If he wasn’t careful, if he didn’t conduct himself mindfully and introduce himself slowly, he would risk scaring her off, and he couldn’t do such a thing.  _ Wouldn’t  _ do such a thing. Though he held no reservations in whisking her away with him regardless of her acceptance, he didn’t want that. He wanted better for her, and for himself most of all. He had waited an eternity for her, and he’d be damned if something got in the way of his long-deserved satisfaction.

So for the moment, he bided his time. Gave her the space for her to let her guard down and let the doldrums from work slowly take over her psyche. It would mean less questions, less resistance in the long run. She might even welcome him into her life with open arms, because she knew how she craved changes in routine, the chance to improve her stakes in life through the freedom of a new transition. And most of all… He knew how lonely she was. Oh, she was a lonely girl; she always had been, the poor thing. Spent her entire life ostracized, making few friends here and there that would almost assuredly fall out of her life at some eventual fork in the road of their relationship. Always treated as the weirdo, the freak, and never truly accepted for who she was. And that was to say nothing of how starved she was for love, from anyone or anything that would give her the time of day. Little did she know that her loneliness was all for a reason, and good fortune was about to find her. She just didn’t know it yet.

No, it wouldn’t happen overnight. It would take some time for him to break the ice, to work his magic and set things in motion, but he already knew what he was going to do. All the pieces were falling into place. Oh yes, in no time at all he would have her wrapped around his silken finger, he would see to it. He would be the answer to all her woes; he would turn out to be all she was ever looking for. And it would all start with a dream…


	8. Dreams

Another day in, another day done. She comes home from work again positively exhausted both emotionally and physically, and it’s all she can do not to break down crying. Well, to tell the truth… She’d already done that. Yes, in the bathroom during her second fifteen, Angel allowed herself five minutes of no-holds-barred self-indulgent weeping, and then she cleaned herself up and went back to work. It wasn’t any one thing at first that was the culprit of her misery. It was just another off day, and a culmination of everything at once that became too much to bear. Things only worsened when the librarian got cross with her over a missing book of all things. 

“What do I even pay you for, Ms. Graider, if you can’t even keep track of things this simple?”

The librarian had gradually taken to calling her Ms. Angel over time, but that afternoon she’d been so angry that it was “Ms. Graider” this and “Ms. Graider” that again six ways from Sunday. She was livid; had smoke coming out of her ears, and the worst part of it was… Angel was the reason the book was missing. It was overdue by a few days at this point; Angel had searched for it high and low, had turned her entire house upside down in search of it, but at the end of the day,  _ A History of Old Derry  _ could not be recovered. The last she remembered seeing it was that night Mayor Jello had that episode over his food bowl. She’d picked it up off the coffee table, put it back, and hadn’t seen it again after that. She could have sworn that’s where she left it, but the worst part of living with depression was that it was like living with a perpetual mental haze. She couldn’t say for certain that, at some point, she hadn’t come by and taken the book to fuck only knows where. There was all the likelihood that she perhaps lost it while she was running errands around town or some mangy rat living underneath the floorboards just up and made off with it in the dead of night somehow. _ Or maybe that ghost magically made it disappear, _ she thinks sarcastically before dismissing it. Couldn’t be. She wouldn’t even entertain the thought, knowing how entirely convenient of an explanation it would be, and one the librarian would find equally as outlandish and cockamamie (as she would put it).

But it didn’t matter now, the book was gone. A documentation of the town in which there were almost no known copies, scattered to the four winds because Angel had decided she wanted to nose in on something that most likely was none of her business to begin with. She felt the self-loathing starting to consume her as she came through the front door, kicking her shoes off and immediately making for the couch. Mayor Jello meows insistently at the dining room table for food and she groans angrily, interrupting herself to dump a heaping pile in his bowl so she can return to her proceedings. The cat seems to pick up on the negative energy, his tail swishing slowly and pensively as he watches his owner stride brusquely back over to the couch.

The moment she returns, the tears come welling up again and she throws herself onto the dingy gingham cushions, taking cathartic satisfaction in the way the wooden frame creaks beneath her upon impact, the way her misery dampens the plush cotton surface. All she wanted was for everything to return to the way it was. Just a month ago, hell, even a couple weeks ago, she’d been doing so well, and now all of a sudden she felt it was just more of the same. She had to wonder why she couldn’t just be happy, and why she always seemed to subconsciously opt for strife and negativity. There was so much she had going for her, so many blessings that she took for granted. Her job, her family, being able to live comfortably on her own. Even her guardian angel, though she hadn’t seen many gifts from them in the last few days or so. Those kids… They were a blessing all their own; they kept her grounded, in a sense. Being something that those kids looked up to was infinitely gratifying in a way she couldn’t put thoughts or words to. It was sentimental and cheesy, but it was the way she felt all the same. In a way, they almost made her want to be a better person. That’s why she was that much harder on herself in times like these; when she was low, when she felt like she was failing them. Ever since Georgie disappeared, she’d only been getting worse over time, and while it was true she could keep up appearances, there was only so much time she had before the facade collapsed completely and they would see her for what she was. They would leave her behind, just like everyone else eventually did. She longed for something of permanence; something or someone miraculous who would stick by her through the worst of times, who would bolster and admire her regardless of her faults and shortcomings. But that, it seemed, was a ridiculous pipe dream she would do well to forget.

As she continues sobbing into the cushion, the exhaustion from it all begins to overtake her, her crying beginning to taper into silence and sniffles over time. She rolls over to face the TV, reaching for the remote that was sitting on the coffee table. She could at the very least forget it all for a while by watching something. Maybe she could pop in a movie if she couldn’t find anything. Flipping through the channels, she regrettably doesn’t find much to hold her attention. It was all the same stuff. News, sports, game shows on local access… With a beat of silence, she cautiously flips over to Channel 27, expecting to find more static, perhaps another eerie presence calling to her through the screen. But instead she finds something completely different. A children’s TV show, it seems, one she recalled finding in passing from before. It was a local show, and she had no idea where it was broadcast from. It seemed to have a relatively shoestring budget, and featured the same set every time she saw it.  _ The Derry Children’s Hour. _

She leaves it on, knowing full well there was simply nothing else to settle for. There’s a gaudy painted backdrop of a town scene with three rows of children seated on the bleachers in front of it. The hostess is exuberant and lively, speaking to the audience with unbridled enthusiasm. Angel raises an eyebrow, letting her stare linger on the screen for a moment as the hostess engages in friendly conversation with one of the children. So far it seemed standard and not at all remarkable. She’s about to get up so she can pick a movie to watch instead, but something or, rather, someone catches her eye.

“I’m glad you bring that up, Gilbert, because we have a very special guest here to tell us all about today’s big topic. Give him a warm welcome, kids!”

There’s scattered applause and cheering from the children and the guest appears from behind the bleachers in grandiose, exaggerated fashion. A clown, dressed head to heel in cream-colored silk with fiery orange hair, favors the audience with a winning grin and a fit of cheerful giggles. She’s immediately fascinated, her gaze fixated on him as he moves buoyantly about the set to greet the various children. 

“Thank you for having me, kids!” You all know me, I’m  _ Pennywise the Dancing Clown!” _

He does a little jig and the laughter of the children compliments the jingling of painted bells festooned on his suit trim. She smiles weakly despite how downcast and miserable she is, unable to deny her enjoyment of his hijinks. She loved clowns. Not everyone did, but growing up she had always had a keen appreciation for them in everything from their antics and demeanor to the way they dressed, the latter even inspiring her fashion sense from adolescence into adulthood. The clown prattles on about the topic of the day, engaging with the children. They ask him questions, he gives bubbly answers, he makes them laugh and, most importantly, he puts Angel in a better humor than before. And before she knows it, as she lets her stare linger on the screen in front of her, her eyes are glazing over with fatigue. She allows them to flutter shut, unable to stop herself from succumbing to inevitable slumber, its pulling allure beginning to overwhelm her senses now. Within a few short minutes, she begins to transcend the cruel plane of reality into something of infinitely more potential. It was true, Angel didn’t possess the control necessary to have free reign over her dreams, but she could at the very least pass the hours with whatever vision her brain saw fit to conjure for her delight or abhorrence. She was sure she would wake with a splitting headache for all her earlier sobbing, but that didn’t matter now. What mattered now was dreaming.

So far it was only the black. Oftentimes her dreams would start out this way, only to jump headfirst into some ridiculous scenario that, within the realm of hallucinations, was treated in the moment as completely ordinary and routine. Her mind wanders in the blank ether for a time, and then, before she knows it, she finds herself back in her bed. As she wakes, she stretches with a yawn and immediately slips out to get dressed for work. A gray blouse and a matching black circle skirt with tights is what she picks out, and after she feeds Mayor Jello she sets out. She walks to work. She finds a gift on her way there; as she crosses from the corner of Witcham onto Up-Mile-Hill she happens upon a string of pearls in near perfect condition laying on a crack in the sidewalk. She doesn’t slip it into her pocket, she dons it then and there, enjoying how it compliments the pearl heart pendant resting against her chest. She adjusts its position on her neck, smiles, and continues her commute. 

She doesn’t remember getting to work, she rather seemed to segue from one scene into another as though she were in a strange movie of some kind. As she works her shift at the library, no one so much as comes in to peruse the shelves. It’s cold, there’s a perpetual chill running down her spine, and she recalls seeing very few people on her way to work that morning. She’d shrugged it off, too distracted by the discovery of the necklace and, either way, the town of Derry wasn’t necessarily a bustling or particularly crowded place to live to begin with, so she didn’t really question it. Still, she couldn’t deny that it felt… Desolate, as though people were being picked off one by one, the world becoming increasingly more empty. The head librarian is nowhere to be found, all that accompanies her are the wandering dust particles in the air and an eerie sense of being watched. The sense that, though it might have felt abandoned, she was very much not alone. Though at this point, she could have begged for company; she’d never felt so utterly isolated. She hoped that her guardian angel was out there, watching over her, keeping her safe from the eyes that followed her around the aisles. 

And then, she hears the faintest incomprehensible whisper, just beyond her earshot. With hesitation, she follows that warmth and the voice that calls, and it takes her all the way out of the library and down the street. She is simply a sheep following the way of a faceless, unknown shepherd now, unable to stop her feet from trudging forward on the pavement. As she follows the voice, it leads her toward the Barrens, into the canal where the gray water filters out into the Kenduskeag. From there it leads her someplace dark and subterranean, somewhere deep in the bowels beneath her cursed hometown. The voice is inviting, almost friendly, almost familiar, and she can’t help but chase the heat blazing a path in front of her, even as she loses herself in a labyrinth of shadow-hidden tunnels. The warmth is so sublime and resplendent, a welcome respite from the cold chill of the autumn air filtering through the hollow pipes, and it’s so overpowering that she can hardly register the stench of the sewers. It feels as though arms have enveloped her from behind, almost guiding her on this journey to god knows where.

And then, when she reaches the cavernous depths of the cistern, she sees it. Sees him, rather, and now she knows where she recognized the voice from. It’s the clown from the  _ Derry Children’s Hour, _ though she can’t fathom for the life of her why he would be down here of all places. He’s facing away, but then he slowly turns toward her. His eyes are striking, no longer blue but piercing, molten gold that bores into her from so far away.

“Angel…” A chorus of whispers calls.

She swallows, and almost musters the nerve to call to him. He appears thoughtful, then he smiles. He extends his hand, beckoning her toward him silently...

She wakes up. She jolts back into reality, finding herself disoriented and even the slightest bit disappointed. She takes a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth, shaking her head and shivering. She looks up to the TV screen, and the  _ Derry Children’s Hour _ is no longer there. Only static. She sits up on the couch and stretches. Mayor Jello is laying on the arm of the couch opposite from her, deep in a slumber of his own. She yawns, rubbing her eyes and getting up to carry herself off to bed, but not before turning the TV off behind her. As she walks to her room, she stops at the doorway, regarding the knob on the door with perplexed wonderment. She does a double take.

“H-how did… Huh?”

It stares at her innocently in the darkness of the corridor. The pearl necklace, elegant and untarnished, hangs from the polished brass.

She didn’t remember much of her dream by now, but she surely remembered the pearl necklace. There’s a blush staining her cheeks now, one she can’t explain, and as she tucks herself in, she cannot stop thinking about it. It occupies her conscience even as she falls asleep once more.

She didn’t dream for the rest of the night.

**~~~~**

Angel found herself looking forward to watching the television now as the days passed. Everytime she turned it on, she always checked Channel 27, now hoping more than anything that she would find the  _ Derry Children’s Hour  _ again. It was silly, wanting to watch a children’s TV program of all things, but she had admittedly developed something of a fondness for the clown character. He didn’t always appear, but she always held out for the possibility regardless. She found him charming; he had a child-like wonderment about him, and a rather cute disposition that proved quite endearing to her. It was something of a coping mechanism, this ritualistic past time of hers; she liked to see him because he made her feel better, about everything, about life in general. Clowns always seemed to cheer her up, made her troubles melt away with their playful whimsy, and she desperately needed such a pick-me-up as of late, so she drank it in gladly.

Pennywise, conversely, was absolutely delighted to find that she enjoyed his presence, and was only bolstered to continue in his calculated strategy to win her over. It was all proceeding swimmingly, just as he’d hoped, and everything was going according to plan. It took everything he had not to move in on her now, to take her in the heat of the moment, but he restrains himself nonetheless, knowing that good things, good fortune, would come to him if he simply bided his time and let things unfold naturally. It would be so much sweeter in the end, to have her begging for him, simply desperate for him to take her; needy and eager for his presence, pining for his love and tender touches. Terrible as it was, he found himself pleased that she was growing increasingly downcast from the troubles of life, as it only made her much more dependent on him in the end. Though he was certainly concerned for her mental state and overall well being, he knew that it was only a matter of time before he could move in and soothe her, and she would succumb to him and his motives that much more willingly. To him, the end justified the means.

So he let her interest grow. He found her disappointment delicious, when she couldn’t find him on the program she so hoped to find airing on the curious and enigmatic Channel 27. The way she would sigh in dismay, flipping to another channel to find something else to keep her attention, and how her face now grew red at the sight of him on the screen when she finally found him. He was flattered; he happened upon her sketchbook one afternoon and noticed an open page with a number of various sketches, all depicting him in different styles. She was thinking about him. She liked him. It made him giddy, it made him positively ecstatic. He would think about it as he carried out his hunts, as he ate within the depths of his lair down below, eating with ravenous frenzy as a result of his own growing excitement. He could hardly contain himself in his glee.

He kept appearing to her in her dreams too. The same dreams, over and over again. They’d follow the same beats, they’d burn themselves into her consciousness, and as time went on she would remember the details of them more and more with each passing day. Though it was all a ploy of his own doing, an excuse to keep seeing her, he would let her think that it was all a manifestation of her growing fascination with him, her… Crush. He knew about her patterns of behavior, and how a hyperfixation could quickly turn into obsession for her, a way to keep her sane in a world of chaos and disarray. A path to escape. And if he had his way, as he knew he surely would, he would be her next obsession, her very last. After all, he was determined to become her entire world, the only thing she would ever want or need. He wanted her to be as obsessed with him as he was with her, and Pennywise always got what he wanted. Always.

He kept leaving gifts, tokens of his affection, the only way he could reasonably court her at this moment in time. He enjoyed her interpretation of his offerings. He found it cute the way she looked forward to each discovery, and searched the town high and low for his trinkets every day as though it were a silly little scavenger hunt of some kind. Yes, he was something of a guardian angel for her, a force in this town that would keep her safe no matter what, even if she didn’t fully understand the motives of said force. Not yet, at least. He wanted to make his existence to her clear, in a way that didn’t betray his true presence within the town, and would in fact steer her towards the idea that he was an energy apart from the esoteric monster the townsfolk whispered about. She needn’t know about who he really was. Not yet. Now more than ever, he feared scaring her away. And he couldn’t have that. Not when the odds were so fortunately in his favor.

She rather enjoyed the dreams. Like the gifts from her guardian angel and the semi-regular syndication of the  _ Derry Children’s Hour, _ it gave her something to look forward to. They didn’t seem to venture very far outside the scope of what she had already seen, but she nonetheless found it interesting the way the dreams kept reoccurring. She had never experienced the phenomenon before, at least not that she could remember. There were instances throughout her childhood where she experienced the same dream once or twice like a bout of deja vu, but those instances were years apart, not at all like this regular series of fantasies. She’d had the same dream for a couple weeks at this point, and didn’t expect it to stop anytime soon. She was perplexed by it all, but chalked it all up to her recent preoccupation, her newest infatuation with the clown. It was not everyday she stumbled across something that catered to a specific interest of hers so perfectly; she simply couldn’t ignore it. Lord knows there was little else to hold her attention in this sleepy little shithole of a town, so she chose to steer into the skid as it were. With Georgie gone and the looming threat of more disappearances hanging over the town, she welcomed the distraction. It was a bastion to keep her distracted from it all, a harsh reality she didn’t yet have the strength to face.


	9. Halloween

October was winding to a close, with only a couple days remaining until Halloween. With all that had been going on, Angel hadn’t a lot of time nor the enthusiasm to get riled up like in years past for what was surely her favorite holiday, but she still planned to dress up nonetheless. She had plans, too. Nothing too extravagant; she simply planned to take the Losers out trick-or-treating, participate in the festivities as an full-fledged adult rather than a carefree child on a quest for free candy. The Losers spoke of their respective costume choices with glee; Richie naturally chose to play Ryu from Street Fighter, Stan put together an elaborate costume and planned to go as one of his favorite birds, one he'd read about called the European Bee-Eater, and Eddie was going as a Pierrot. Bill, who’d been goaded into coming along at the last second, was attending as a simple sheet ghost. 

Angel even had an ensemble of her own to wear, though it had admittedly been recycled from Halloween’s past. A character from one of her favorite movies, one she paid tribute to in one of the posters decorating the walls of her living room, she planned to play the despicable Alexander Delarge from A Clockwork Orange. She had it all; the white dress shirt, carpenter pants and suspenders, the cane, the codpiece, and of course the characteristic black bowler. She enjoyed the look immensely, found it simply outrageous and certainly iconic, and she didn’t mind using it again for this year’s celebrations. She spends the last couple days of the month lazily tracking down all the pieces and then the 31st arrives, quickly dissolving from daylight into dusk.

_ Let’s have a party _

_ There’s a full moon in the sky _

_ It’s the hour of the wolf _

_ And I don’t wanna die~ _

Oingo Boingo is playing on her stereo, perfect Halloween music that fills the room and besets it with a truly festive energy. It’s No One Lives Forever, her favorite track off Dead Man’s Party, an album she felt perfectly encapsulated the spirit of the holiday. Just as she’s putting the final touches on her costume, affixing the single pair of false eyelashes to her right eye, she hears a shower of knocks at her front door. Her hair is in a loose ponytail, tucked up into itself to mimic Alex’s almost bob-like hairstyle, and she laces up her Doc Martens to complete the stark and unnerving look. She answers the door and the Losers come parading in, all donning their costumes proudly. She looks them over with exaggerated enthusiasm, and compliments them all on their ensembles. Eddie’s costume was her favorite. And all the while, the music on her stereo warbles along, fast-paced and electric.

_ I'm so happy _

_ Dancing while the grim reaper _

_ Cuts cuts cuts _

_ Well you can't get me _

“Wow guys, not bad! Bill? Simple but iconic. You too Eds, you nailed the facepaint. And Stan? _ Lovin’ _ the bird look, it suits you.”

“Thaaaaank you.” Stan says pleasantly, standing up straight and beaming. His plumage is beautiful. "I spent months on it, had to get it just right."

“Well, it came out fuckin’ fantastic.” She gives him a winning thumbs up.

“What about me?” Richie pipes up from the back. His gi hangs loosely about his chest, and the costume overall looks about two sizes too big. He has a long red tie knotted about his head to mimic Ryu's distinctive headband.

“Hmm… Size it a little better next time Rich, your tits are hangin’ out.” She says, half-serious. “Also, are those boxing gloves?”

“Hey, gimme a break. The thrift store didn’t have shit.” He says, trying and failing to snag a Reeses from the candy bowl sitting on the coffee table.

There’s giggles from the peanut gallery.

“What about you?” Ed asks, looking her over. 

“Yeah, w-what are you s-s-supposed to be?” Bill asks from underneath the sheet.

“A fashion disaster, apparently.” Richie snorts. He’s taken off one of his gloves to get to the candy. “And what’s with the jock strap?”

“Shut up Richie.”

She’s unsure of how to answer the question, scratching her head nervously. “Oh, uh… A character from a movie you  _ definitely _ … Shouldn’t watch. Not uh… Not until you’re at least sixteen.” Truth be told, she was about their age when she first saw it, but the kids didn’t need to know that.

“I’ve actually seen it.” Richie admits casually, popping the candy into his mouth. “Snuck it out of my parents’ collection one night. The shit is wild.” Then he clears his throat and slips into one of his voices. He mimics Alex’s manner of speaking in perfect nadsat as he slings an arm around Stan’s shoulder, which Stan promptly pushes off. Richie seems unphased. “Welly welly well my droogs, are we ready to have a flip horrorshow time this evening? Time’s a wastin’, o my brothers, let’s get to the streets and crast around the ol' neighborhoods before the night is done, right right?” 

Angel stares at him for a moment. “I don’t like that.” She says blankly.

“No one does.” Eddie adds disdainfully. He truly looks a picture-perfect Pierrot at this moment.

“Pshhhh, you guys are no fun.” Richie sighs, shaking his candy bucket at them with a flippant wave of his hand.

“He _ is _ right, though.” Angel says, looking at the clock overhead. “It’s getting late, and we only have so much time to make the rounds.” She opens the door and waves them out. “Let’s go, kiddos, after you.”

They go walking out in a single file line and she closes the door behind her. “Alright, let’s make our way down Witcham, shall we? I say we start from the bottom and work our way up and around.” She says, gesturing with her cane.

The night is alive with true Halloween spirit. The moment they step outside, they can feel the biting chill of the air sweeping through them. The streets are filled with questing children all on the prowl for the same common goal, with parents tagging along in mostly halfhearted reluctance. She swings her cane as she walks and leads the way for the Losers, acting as a pied piper of sorts to guide them through the organized chaos of the adolescent-populated thoroughfares. They begin with the house adjacent to Angel’s, and cross over to the house across the street afterward. Angel hangs back as the kids saunter up to the front doors to collect their candy, and the kids rejoin her after accomplishing their end. 

“Well, what’d you guys get?” She asks nonchalantly, leaning up against a tree.

“I got a Blow Pop.” says Eds.

“B-B-Butterfinger.” says Bill.

“Two Twizzlers.” says Stan.

“I got shafted.” says Richie.

Angel gives him a look. “What does  _ that _ mean?”

“Butterscotch.” He says, looking appalled.

She laughs with a shrug. “Better than nothin’, bud.”

“I’d rather have nothing.” He says defiantly.

“Alright, then give it.”

“No.”

They continue on, and gradually make their way through the neighborhood. They collectively start to amass a modest amount of candy, and Angel even finds herself collecting a few pieces here and there at the insistence of a few benevolent parents (including one of her personal favorites, the grape-flavored Tootsie Pop). There’s even a few among them that recognize her costume. Some are amused, others are less so. She found it par for the course; the town was routinely uptight when it came to just about anything she liked. Still, she takes it in stride, and starts to find herself in genuine good spirits. Things had been hard as of late, and it was nice to have another occasion to celebrate that gave her much-needed respite from her troubles. It went without saying, too, but the presence of the Losers always put a smile on her face. Cheesy as it was, they were practically a ray of sunshine in the otherwise moody and fickle storm that was her life. They didn’t always have time to visit, but when they did, it made for good times. She tried her best to cherish that and not take it for granted. 

After having sojourned as far down the street as they reasonably could, the party makes a 180 pivot once they can start to see the Hanlon farms off in the distance, and then they slowly but surely make their way back past Angel’s house where they had started. The night is still young but the sky is as black as coal, the moon luminescent as the dozens of flashlights brandished by costumed children scurrying about the pavement. Their chatter and glee makes for pleasant background noise as the Losers collectively journey through Witcham toward Up-Mile-Hill, their pillowcases and buckets rustling with increasing bounty after each and every house. They stop off at a few more doors and then take a moment outside of Bill’s house to assess their current stashes.

“...Two, four, five… God I’ve got six fucking butterscotches.” 

“Heh heh, the old ladies must love ya.” Eddie snickers. He peels the wrapper off a KitKat and methodically breaks off one half to eat. Richie smacks the other half into the dirt with his boxing glove.

“Hey are you fucking serious?” Eddie exclaims, gesturing to the fallen KitKat in patent dismay.

“That’s the toll.” Richie shrugs. His gi is so baggy it almost slips off his shoulder. “You make fun of me you lose your candy. You’re just lucky it wasn’t anything good.”

“You got something against KitKats, asshole?” Eddie snaps back venomously.

“Okay, okay, break it up you two.” Angel says from behind a chick tract. She flips to the end of the little booklet and tosses it into the dirt. “The Gay Blade,” it’s called. She crushes it beneath her boot heel.

“S-S-Sorry I’m late, g-guys.” Bill says from underneath his sheet. “T-Thanks for waiting up.”

“Late?” Stan asks. “Late from where?”

“I h-had some trouble cutting the h-holes in the right p-p-places. Went through t-t-two old sheets before I got it.” He laughs.

“Oh. I thought--”

“And what the hell is your costume, anyway, huh? It’s giving me the creeps!”

“Mimes scare you, Richie? What are you, like, five?”

“Weren’t you here with us before?” Stan is puzzled.

“H-huh? No, I don’t… T-Think so?”

“Then, who was--”

‘I’LL LIQUIFY YOUR KNEECAPS WITH MY HURRICANE KICK.”

“I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS.”

“GUYS!” Angel roars. They all stop. “Quit fighting or I’m gonna knock both your heads together. Eds- I’ve got an extra KitKat. Richie- quit whinging about your butterscotches.”

“But-”

_ “Shut it!” _

“Sorry.”

“We’ve still got a lot of ground to cover, so if you guys don’t want to waste the night I say we get going.” She sighs. 

“Fine, but keep this painted creep away from me.” Richie snipes, scooting away from Eddie. He immediately starts picking at Stan’s plumage. “Looks like it’s you and me tonight, Stan the man. The dynamic duo.”

Stan smacks his hand away. “Absolutely not. And don’t touch my plumage.” Stan glances at Bill again. “Angel--” 

“Come on, we’re burning moonlight.”

“Fine,  _ fine.” _

He tries to just forget it.

**~~~~**

The party of Losers makes their way past Derry Elementary as they stroll down Costello Avenue, hitting as many houses as they can along the way. There’s even more people on the streets than before and the traffic seems to be increasing as time wears on. By now everyone has gathered a decent amount of candy, weighty to the point of having to be slung over shoulders and lugged around like dense sacks of potatoes. Their feet are growing tired but still they trudge on, determined to make the most of the holiday and squeeze as much productivity out of the night as possible. Angel finds her mind wandering with her stride, and as she continues she starts to contemplate the presence of her guardian angel. She wondered if they were watching over her that night, wondered if she might find another gift, waiting for her in some crack or crevice ready to be found and picked up for her growing collection. She hadn’t told the Losers about this so-called guardian of hers; she thought it to be a thing best kept private. It was better savored that way, and felt like a delicious little secret only she was privy to. She simply enjoyed the imagined security in silence, the feeling that she was special to something, special enough to look out for and leave little trifles to keep her faith and interest. It was nice, it was thrilling in a sense. She had no idea of the identity of this thing, but she appreciated it nonetheless, so taken with the nice gestures that she was blind to any perceived ulterior motives.

“That makes ten fucking butterscotches.” Richie says, swiping through his candy in frustration. “It’s like I’m a magnet for them or some shit.”

“Yeah but I’m s-sure you’ve got a lot of other stuff t-t-too.” Bill says, trying to offer a bit of positivity. 

“Yeah, look on the bright side, kiddo.” Angel chimes in. “Could be candy corn, or… God forbid,  _ black licorice.”  _

They all shudder with disgust.

“Still.” Richie says, rustling through his bucket again. “If I get another one I’m gonna fuckin’ lose it.”

He picks one out and examines it with distaste, then chucks it over his shoulder. There’s a snarl from behind him as it clacks against the sidewalk, and Ed’s eyes widen into saucers as he preemptively steps back, hiding behind Angel.

“Uh oh.”

Richie hesitates, then turns around. Henry Bowers and his gang of thugs, Belch Huggins, Victor Criss, and Patrick Hockstetter are standing in a group on the sidewalk, and the butterscotch had just so happened to bounce off the back of Henry’s head. He gulps.

“Which one of you fucking twerps threw that?” He asks, turning around. His voice is low and dangerous.

“No one. It was Eddie.” Richie blurts out.

“Dude!” Eddie squeaks angrily from behind Angel’s pant leg. Henry seems unphased as Richie backs away. 

The group begins to congregate around the Losers, with Henry advancing slowly on Richie like a slithering snake cornering a helpless mouse.

“I’m gonna gut you like a fucking fish, Tozier.” He growls, leaning down to look at him. His eyes glint meanly in the darkness and Richie shrinks ever so slightly.

“Hey, that’s  _ enough _ Bowers.” It's Angel, coming in between the two of them. “Back the fuck off or I’m calling your dad over. I’m sure he’d be none too happy to find your little punk ass threatening a bunch of little kids.”

Henry stares at her for a moment in silence, then pops his neck and steps back a pace or two. “...Fine. You kids are fucking spineless, you know that? Always hiding behind big sister.” He mocks. He gives a fleeting look to his goons and gestures with an upward nod of his head. They uncross their arms.

“Come on, guys.” He says angrily. They start to leave. Belch elbows past Angel harshly, but not before whispering something nasty into her ear on his way through. She freezes and glares at him in disgust, watching as they all fade into the crowd in front of them.

“Let’s go.” Angel says darkly.

The kids hesitate, then all agree after an uncomfortable silence. They try to forget it all as they continue on.

Angel is stony-faced and silent for a time, keeping her lips pursed in dismay as she leads the kids forward through the neighborhood. She plays with the pearl heart around her neck, rolling her thumb over the smooth polished surface slowly and methodically while she thinks. She’s angry about them, and she’s upset with herself for it. They were just a few shitty kids, she shouldn’t let their bad attitudes interfere with her night and spoil everything for her. She’s the adult, she’s  _ supposed _ to be better than this. The kids are quiet, sensing the tension, and not even Richie breaks the silence to keep bickering with Eddie or crack lame jokes. She tries so hard just to let it go, but she’s stewing in silent resentment now. She got so sick of hearing things like that. She’d grown up being called those things, before she even knew the first thing about what they meant or the malice behind them. It didn’t matter if it was true or not, it was… The cruelty and the intolerance behind the words. She hated herself for being so easily rattled, but she couldn’t help it. It’s the way she’s always been.

“Are you… Okay, Angel?” Eds asks carefully, looking up at her.

She pauses, then sighs. “...Yeah. Yeah, I am. Don’t worry guys, I’m okay. Just… Shitty kids is all.” 

“No need to explain.” Richie says with an uncharacteristic solemnity. “Bowers is just a jerkass. I swear, kid looks for reasons to be mad.”

“Yeah.” she says quietly. “They all do.”

“ _ I’m _ still mad you tried to blame me for throwing that fuckin’ butterscotch.” Eddie says, glaring at Richie from the other side of Angel.

“The dude was sweatin’ me, it just came out!” Richie exclaims, excuses at the ready. “I guarantee you’d do the same damn thing in my position.’

“No, because unlike you I have a sense of honor.”

“Alright you two.” Angel sighs. “We should keep going, yeah? Still plenty of houses to hit.”

“Actually,” Stan pipes up. All eyes fall on him. “O-Oh. Well, I was just gonna say… My house is just down the block a little, and I kind of need to go to the bathroom.”

“Oh, well that’s no problem.” Angel says casually. “Go right ahead, we could all use a break anyway.”

He’s silent. “Well, uh… It’s kind of an elaborate costume…”

“Jesus, Birdman, are you really telling me you can’t get in and out of that thing by yourself?” Richie asks incredulously. “What, did your  _ mom _ help you put it on?”

“Cool it, Rich.” Angel says tiredly.

“That’s irrelevant.” Stan says delicately. “Point is, I need someone to come with just in case I… You know… Last thing I need is a wardrobe malfunction.”

“Eds, go with Stan and help him with his costume please. And be quick.”

“You got it, Anj.”

Angel climbs onto the branch of a low-hanging tree so as to rest her feet and takes a great big heaving sigh as she watches them disappear from her peripherals. Richie and Bill hang back in silence for a time before Richie starts needling Bill with questions about his costume to pass the time. Angel doesn’t participate, finding that the exhaustion of being socially present was starting to weigh on her just the slightest bit now. She cranes her neck up to look at the sky and gets lost in the stars as she swings her feet. They’re so bright from so far, distant and almost vaguely familiar in their golden splendor; lighthouses that beckon brilliantly from lightyears away, from a place so far-flung she could hardly even fathom it and her mind wanders, hopping seamlessly from one constellation into another. She’s lost in fleeting thought about all the complicated little details of her life, from faroff memories of years past to old fights she had with loved ones; problems she’s had and forks in the road she’s had to face before eventually arriving here at this present moment in time. Some part of her briefly wonders whether or not her life was building towards anything at all, and whether or not everything that happened to her was all for a reason or simply cruel twists of fate. She suspected it to be the latter.

Still, she couldn’t deny that she seemed exceptionally lucky, especially for an outcast. People… Like her, they didn’t tend to last very long in a place like Derry. She’s surprised she was able to make it this far to begin with, really. Though the 80’s were a modern and revolutionary time to be living in, places like Derry were less subversive. It was such a small town in such a rural place that things at times seemed a little backwards. If you weren’t a specific kind of way, if you didn’t conform to certain standards, you made yourself the target of many. People in this town could be downright nasty and she knew it. It didn’t stop her from being a relatively brazen girl, however. Growing up, she reveled in being weird, in being the oddball. She had a quirky, offbeat sense of humor, she listened to strange music, she drew creepy things no one liked to look at and she dressed like a clown, all bright and offbeat and mismatched. People tried to beat that out of her, and to some extent they definitely succeeded, but Angel was lucky that was all she got. For her own reckless daring she should be dead somewhere, the victim of some lowly scumbag that had crawled out of the dregs below to take their anger out on someone the town surely wouldn’t miss. She shouldn’t have lasted her entire childhood, and that was to say nothing about all the rumors. Those kinds of rumors were exceptionally dangerous in a place like this and still she managed to survive. It was remarkable to say the least.

Was she actually a lucky girl? Hard to say. She’d been the unlucky contestant of quite a few dicey situations over the years, situations that left nics and scratches and mental scars, things that kept her up at night when all that was left to do was think, but she still came out of all of it alive and well in the end. It was hard to ignore such a notable lifelong track record, and although it would have been easy to chalk it all up to good fortune, she knew that things simply  _ weren’t _ that easy in Derry. With all of the town’s history, with all of the strange happenings and the presence of things unknown beyond anyone’s understanding, good fortune seemed too convenient of an excuse. She wondered, in the end, if she had anything to do with it all, if her fate was somehow tied to this town and all of its intricacies. Maybe the manifestation of her guardian angel wasn’t just a strange development but, in fact, a stepping stone to something she couldn’t yet understand.

She wanted to believe it, but the mere thought of it was making her more tired than before and, in a sense, melancholic for reasons she couldn’t properly justify. She was also starting to worry. It’d been an awfully long time since the kids left, and as time went on she couldn’t stop herself from starting to think dreadful things. For the sake of coping, her mind jumps from these heavy topics into things of less weight. Happy thoughts, she tries to think. Yes, she was looking forward to November. She was looking forward to the holidays to come. She was looking forward to the change of seasons, the segue of gorgeous autumn into breaktaking winter, the way that the trees would shed their foliage completely to welcome the blankets of virgin snow descending from the sky. Derry was positively resplendent in the wintertime, and the sight of snowcapped pines dotting across the land alongside festive lights, garland, tinsel, and other colorful decorations brought the town much-needed vivacity and cheer in perpetually grim times. She couldn’t wait for it.

Despite the excitement of the night, she couldn’t wait to go home either. Couldn’t wait to go home, say a goodnight to the kids and to her precious cat, peel off her costume and crawl into her warm bed where she’d take much-needed relief from it all. Couldn’t wait for the next day, when she would have the house to herself again, when she could turn on the TV and spend the hours searching for things to watch and keep her fickle attention span. She couldn’t wait to drown her troubles in junk food, a nasty habit she did well to keep to herself, and forget all her problems for as long as she possibly could. She couldn’t wait for the  _ Derry Children’s Hour, _ and she couldn’t wait to see  _ him. _ She couldn’t wait for the night to come again, where she’d fall asleep all over again and have that dream. The dream that would sometimes play out exactly as it had the night before, or the dream that would go just a little bit further, teasing at something that made her wake every morning with a blush staining her cheeks.

It was not unlike Angel to develop crushes on fictional characters or people on the TV, she’d grown up doing it her entire life. It was one of her most ingrained coping mechanisms, a way to deal with how exceedingly lonely she had always felt. Usually these things, these fixations lasted for about a couple weeks to maybe a month or two at most, and then they would fade to give way for the next one. Some were intense and lasted short amounts of time, others were more subdued and lasted longer. It simply depended on who it was and how much they struck her fancy. This one struck her fancy an awful lot if she were honest. Clowns were admittedly something of a weakness for her. She couldn’t exactly explain it, but her fascination with them didn’t just stop at the way they dressed or the way they acted. There was something else there too. She thinks about him, his bright blue eyes, the way they turned to gold in her fantasies and her stomach flutters with something delightful. And when she lets her gaze fall back down on the crowds of people trekking by, she almost thinks she catches a glimpse of him among the horde and a vision of his form paints itself in her mind, coifs of beautiful wildfire bouncing ever so slightly with each step, pleats of silver silk complimented by the reflecting moonlight overhead. Before she can let her mind wander on him too long, however, her attention is called by the sight of Eddie, who comes running up from the crowd wearing panic on his painted face. His makeup is smudged and he appears a little disheveled. 

“Angel, Angel!” He calls frantically. He’s out of breath, and he pulls his inhaler from a specially sewn pocket on his suit. After taking two long indulgent puffs, he puts it back with shaking hands. 

She jumps down from the tree, unease striking her veins. “What’s going on Eds? Where’s Stan?”

He’s still catching his breath, but he wheezes out the answer. “Its-- It’s Bowers.” He gasps. “Him and his gang caught us in the alley by Secondhand Rose.”

“Fuck.”

“Are you o-okay?”

“Yeah.  _ Yeah,  _ Patrick almost chased me down but I got away. I tried to go back for Stan after but I couldn’t find any of them when I did. I think maybe they took him somewhere else.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Okay well--” Angel says, picking up her cane again, which was resting idly against the trunk of the tree. “We can’t waste any time. We’ll drop by Secondhand Rose first just to make sure he's not there, and then we’ll start scouting Up-Mile-Hill. Come on, guys.”

No time to think about the clown now. Her mind is consumed now in the search for Stan, overcome with worry and concern that she cannot assuage with thoughts of a best case scenario, because best case scenarios simply didn’t exist with Angel. It was easier simply to assume the worst so that she wouldn’t take a single better outcome for granted, and right now, she assumed the worst in the vain hopes that she would end up being wrong. The Bowers gang was a violent bunch, and she feared what they might do if left alone with a defenseless child for too long. Stan was also a fairly delicate kid, and besides Eddie was least liable to stick up for himself in dire situations such as these. She tries not to think of it too much, keeping her mind solely on the task at hand. The remaining Losers are calling out for him as they search the streets, and she joins their efforts with a strong, loud call into the darkness.

“Stan,  _ Stan!” _ They all keep shouting endlessly, but their voices are simply not enough to locate the whereabouts of their lost friend. Their best efforts are only met with silence among the chatter, and no one around pays heed to their dilemma, purely oblivious to their desperation and almost mindless in their dogging pace. Checking the alley of Secondhand Rose proves fruitless and futile, and after reaching that dead end they take their investigation elsewhere. Up-Mile-Hill is saturated with an almost obscene amount of people in costume and as time goes on the masses start to blend into one another, a mosaic of cheap, gaudy material, masks and outrageous makeup. Devils, witches, skeletons, and ghosts litter the streets among other more creative getups, and Angel finds herself thankful in this moment that Stan was wearing something fairly distinct; it made him easier to draw out of the crowd. If she could ever find him, that is. She continues her surveyance of the path ahead of her, searching like a watchful eagle over empty valleys and canyons, eyes trained on a certain and specific target. Her eyes scan restlessly over them all, raking over endless bobbing waves of people wandering aimlessly towards god-knows-what and she thinks she sees a clue on the ground, an iridescent feather distinctive of Stan’s flashy ensemble.

But then-

“Bill!” She hears Eddie scream. 

She turns back, bringing their pace to a grinding halt. The crowd moves around them, unfazed.

“Wha- What about Bill? Where is he?” she asks breathlessly.

“I don’t know!” Richie says frantically. “He was right behind us and then when we looked back he was just gone! We lost him!”

“Jesus fucking-- Okay,  _ okay.” _ She takes a deep breath, eyes closed tight as she thinks. When she opens her eyes and surveys the crowd again, it's almost as though there’s five times as many ghosts as before. It gives her a headache just looking at them all. “We can’t stop looking for Stan, just-- Just keep a lookout for Bill too.”

“But there’s a fuckton of kids dressed just like him! How are we supposed to find him in this sea of ghosts? It’s like the goddamn River Styx out here!” Richie exclaims. 

“There’s nothing else we can do, Richie! We’ll find them both eventually, just trust me, okay? Come on!”

They start moving again, and she’s even more terrified than before. That ever-familiar fear and mortification frosts over her heart, and it takes everything she’s got not to have a panic attack right there on the sidewalk. She needed to stay strong for the kids, she knew that, so she trudges on, swallowing the dread forming hard lumps in her throat and ignoring the knots twisting and churning in her stomach, different than the pleasant ones from before. Now more than anything she wishes for her guardian angel, wanting to feel their presence simply for the sake of comfort and security in these uncertain circumstances and disheartened that she couldn’t find a single trace of them. As she kept collecting the gifts she started eventually becoming in tune to a certain feeling, an aura that manifested itself in powerful warm gusts of wind or insectile chatter that seemed to come through her from all directions. Strange exhalations of something cosmically different, brief demonstrations that something was definitely watching over her, presumably speaking to her in the only way it could. As much as she longed to feel that aura now, however, there was simply nothing to console her, leaving her alone to navigate this difficult terrain on her own.

“Stan!” She continues calling out. But there’s still nothing.

She keeps scanning the crowd. Her eyes don’t stop for even a second, trying to find the bright and colorful plumage of his intricate costume amidst the comparably dark, bland tones of the others blending into one another. There seem to be more people than before. With each passing moment the numbers only increase, and now Angel can’t even see the path in front of her. Another category of overdone costumes seems to have entered the fold, a swarm of zombies and walking corpses ambling alongside her now as she conducts her frantic investigation. It’s getting tight and claustrophobic, she’s elbowing and shouldering past countless people, hoping in vain that Eddie and Richie can keep the pace behind her, knowing that she truly couldn’t afford to lose any more of them. She doesn’t have the time to look back and check, but the presence of their voices is enough to reassure her. There’s so many people she can hardly believe it, more people than she saw at the concert some weeks back, and surely more people than reasonably existed in Derry. She can’t question it, doesn’t have the energy to, so she just keeps searching, calling. The pace of the crowd is relentless and unstoppable now like droves of stampeding wildebeests, and she fears they might get trampled if they stop for even a second. She’s moving, searching, calling and then she’s interrupted; her eyes fall on something in front of her that makes her heart skip a beat in her chest.

It’s him, moving along with the horde, far ahead of her but still very much recognizable. She can hardly believe her eyes, and he doesn’t disappear when she blinks in confusion. In her panic-riddled mind she briefly wonders if its really him or simply a person imitating him, and she comes to the quick and hopeful conclusion that it must be the former, as she saw no reason anyone in this town would want to dress up as a character on a bizarre local access show of all things. Something strange overcomes her and her pace quickens; she can hardly think as she pushes past more people, becoming consumed now in the throes of a different chase. Her feet feel numb and she can’t control herself. She keeps her eyes on him, his tall figure distinct among the bobbing throngs of people shorter in stature, and she can hardly hear the calls of the children behind her.

“Angel!  _ Angel!” _ Ed and Richie are yelling desperately. They sound far away, almost as though they had floated off, light as balloons and skyward-bound. She shuffles forward, static in her ears as she leaves them behind. “Where are you going?!  _ Angel!!”  _

She’s swallowed by a strange desire, something she can’t muster the power to break from; not here, not now. She’s almost hypnotized, taken by an urge she doesn’t understand, but she knows she has to get to him. She doesn’t even know what she’ll do when she does; what she’ll say, how she’ll explain herself. She simply continues thoughtlessly, her canter almost quickening into a run, as much of a sprint as the current surroundings would allow her. It’s almost like a sickness, intense and vivid and overwhelming, heat settling over her temples as she pushes closer towards him. 

And then he stops for a second, the crowd moving around him like currents of the red sea parting for the will of god through Moses’ staff. He stops, he turns, and he looks through her with a piercing stare. His eyes are highbeams of golden headlights in the dark of an unlit road.

She becomes dizzy, she loses all concentration. Everything is blurry, she can’t see straight. The static in her ears becomes deafening, almost like there’s a chorus of screams fighting to break free from her veins. There’s something mad roiling furiously through her blood now. Her eyes glaze over for a long moment before she snaps out of it, and she finds him gone from the crowd, almost as though he were never there in the first place. And then as she sobers, it all comes flooding back. Oh. Oh _god._ _The children._ She looks around her, but Eddie and Richie are gone now. She’s alone in the crowd. She’s alone, and she’s managed to lose _all four of them._

Angry tears brim in her eyes as she immediately breaks from Up-Mile-Hill back onto Costello Avenue, quick and nimble on tired feet, her pulse thrumming in her aching temples as she continues her search more frantically than before. She longed to be at home resting after such a long night but she knew it wouldn’t end until she found them. It was hard, but she knew she had to take responsibility for all of this and see it through. She was just so worried for them. She spends eternal minutes scanning over the comparably empty road, interrupted only by the occasional passing streetcar, shivering in her costume and almost wishing for the feverish warmth of the previous chase to take her again. The feelings of self-hatred are starting to work their way through her blood again, blaming herself for all of it as she carries on. They were all lost and it was all her fault. If she’d just kept everyone in one piece, if she hadn’t gone chasing after the stupid clown, this wouldn’t have happened in the first place.  _ This wouldn’t have happened in the first place. _

She crosses from Costello Avenue onto Canal Street, and from there she starts to trek across Bassey Park towards the Kissing Bridge. She knew the Bowers Gang liked to hang out there on occasion, and there was the vague possibility they’d taken Stan there. Yes. Yes, it might be a better idea to search for one kid first and move on from there. She could at least take comfort in the fact that the others were simply lost in the crowd on Up-Mile-Hill, and they had a better chance of being safe while she tried to track down Stan. She hoped anyway. The Kissing Bridge comes up on the horizon and she stops for a moment. She slides her hands down the length of her cane until she reaches the bottom, and unscrews a compartment on the end until a hidden flashlight pops out. She turns it on and keeps going, shining it on the path in front of her until she reaches the bridge. She flashes it momentarily at all the names on the bridge, down at the Kenduskeag across the way, then scans it over the tunnel ahead of her. She listens for noises, any noises, anything that might give them away if they were anywhere nearby. So far, there’s nothing. She waits, and waits, but still there’s nothing.

She feels the tears come welling up in her eyes again and she stuffs the flashlight into her pocket in frustration. She leans out over the bridge, elbows propped on the white wood, and starts sobbing as she lets her face sink into her hands. Her cries echo in the emptiness of the surrounding nature, mocking her panic and her fear as the silent moon looks on indifferently from above. She indulges in this dejection for some time, unable to do little else than use this time to collect herself through her misery. She closes her eyes and lets her tears drop from her face into the foliage of the downward sloping hill below. She groans and buries her face in her hands again, but jerks up in alert when she hears rustling in a nearby underbrush. She whips her flashlight out again, cautiously searching with its beam of light to discern what she had heard, but she gets the wind knocked out of her as something rams into her from the side and slams her to the ground.

When she hits the ground her vision blurs, and she gasps desperately for breath as she waits for her vision to return. Something hits her in the ribs again and she sputters, coughing out a shriek as she rolls over and curls into a fetal position, trying to shield herself from her assailant. Another blow, this time aimed at her back and she cries out, further pushed into the wood of the Kissing Bridge. Her forehead scrapes against the pavement and she can see her blood smeared against the ground, black in the dim moonlight. She squeezes her eyes shut, almost hoping that that perpetrator might stop eventually if she just laid there and took it. She wheezes in agony, trying to catch her breath, but she’s suddenly jerked upward by her shirt and slammed against the bridge. She coughs again, blood and drool trickling down her lip, shaking as she faces her attacker. 

It’s Patrick Hockstetter. He’s alone, and he wears a look of smug content on his face. Smug content and just the slightest hint of resentment.

“Nice to see you again.” He sneers.

She gasps, still short of breath, unable to react immediately. She straightens her back in his hold and winces at the aching pain in her bones.

“Patrick Hockstetter.” She groans. “I knew one of you slimy fucks was hiding around here.”

He punches her in the ribs and she cries out again, losing her breath as he looms over her. He’s pressing her backward into the bridge like he intends to push her over the edge, but he still holds her there, clearly enjoying her discomfort.

“I’d shut my mouth if I were you, you stupid meddling bitch.” He says with venom in his tone.

_ “Fuck...You.”  _ She growls, and he hits her again, this time across the face.

She coughs and sputters, and then she looks up to glower at him.

“What… The fuck...Did you do to Stan..?” She asks darkly, swallowing back the taste of rust.

“You mean that kid in the lame little bird costume?” He asks. He leans in, and she can smell the revolting stench of alcohol on his warm breath. “...We beat the everloving piss out of him.”

She lunges forward, roaring in rage but he’s too quick. He punches her in the ribs once more and laughs when she lets out a pained howl, crumpling over as she tries in vain to protect herself. He keeps a tight grip on the front of her shirt, and a spike of fear shoots through her veins when she can hear a click from outside her peripherals.

He raises a switchblade to her throat, slowly pressing the sharpened metal against her throat, savoring the way she squirms.

“You’re a fucking freak, you know that?” He sneers. “Grown woman friends with a bunch of lame ass little kids, fucking lifeless  _ weirdo.  _ No wonder you hang around with those fucking losers, you’re no different than they are.  _ ” _

“Better than hanging around a bunch of limp-dicked nobodies who get their rocks off threatening women and children.” She whispers with hatred in her voice. Despite her fear, she can’t stop herself from taunting him even in the face of danger.

He presses the blade against her throat harder now as he pushes her back against the bridge.

“Shut up, bitch, or I’ll slit your fucking throat right now. I’ll let you bleed out right here on the ground.” 

He looks around her and down into the underbrush below. He looks thoughtful for a second, and then an evil grin spreads across his face.

“Or… I’ll throw you over this fucking bridge. How about it, bitch? Maybe you’ll break your neck from the fall.” 

He inches her back even more until half her body is dangling back over the wood, and she’s struggling against him.

“Yeah, yeah I think that’s a pretty good idea. I think this town would be better off without you anyway. Just one less of you making us all look bad.” He says.. He notices the pendant around her neck and smirks. “Hmm, won’t be needing this anymore, will we?” He yanks it from her neck and throws it to the side, delighted at the way she cries out in dismay when it clacks against the ground and skids out of sight into a nearby bush. 

"Well, it was nice knowing ya…"

He leans forward to whisper in her ear. 

**So long** **_dyke._ **

And then he pushes her over the edge.

She screams out as she falls and then she hits the ground. There’s a sickening crunch upon her impact and gravity sends her tumbling painfully down the underbrush. She’s lost her breath completely and she gasps for air, gulping it down into her lungs desperately as she plunges toward the bottom of the hill. She’s got scratches on her face from stray branches and she’s covered in dust and leaves as she lays there helpless, immobilized in the dirt. The pressure against her ribs is unbearable and it takes all of her strength to roll from her side onto her back. Her bowler is gone, having gotten lost when she was pitched over the side. She can’t muster the energy or the strength to get up, time has slowed to a crawl as she passes the minutes fighting to stay conscious. She can see the black starting to take over and she tries her best to combat it, but she knows it's only a matter of time before she passes out. She coughs into the cold air, and each cough sends a sharp pain stabbing against her insides, sends fresh tears in her bloodshot eyes, which brim over the surface and trickle warmly down the side of her feverish cheek. She’s almost gone when she hears laughing overhead. Laughter, self-indulgent despicable cackling which turns into a blood curdling shriek out of nowhere. She thinks she’s hallucinating the rumbling snarls and the wet, ripping sounds, the chewing, so vivid in her ears like surround sound in a movie theater, the stench of death rolling over the cold air like a carrion perfume. It’s a maddening assault to the senses, one she can’t muster the energy to question or justify as she lies there like a captive audience. Then, just as quickly as it came, there’s simply an eerie silence now where there was once a disorienting cacophony of screams and tears and she can’t stave it off anymore, the pain and the exhaustion. After a few more moments of vainly trying to fight it, her sight eventually goes to black.

Silence, silence, silence and sleep. And then…

“Angel…” A voice calls to her. _ “Angel…” _

She’s still out like a light, but she can still hear it, the sound of someone familiar. The voice is sweet and soft and lilting, almost like a lullaby. Almost like… No, it couldn’t be. 

But when her eyes flutter open ever so slightly, she can see something reaching towards her from above, a blackened figure she can’t quite make out in her haze. The figure appears tall and looming; it reaches its hand down towards her and she wants to grab it, but she just doesn’t have the strength. Her sight is returning and the stars above her are so vividly blinding even in her haze; they stare down at her from above, bold but kind as she comes out of her trauma-induced stupor. This moment is so vaguely familiar to her, almost like deja vu; it's as though she’s reliving that night at the Terrace, with the mysterious benefactor that had saved her from getting very nearly trampled. She wants to reach… She tries so hard, but the pain is too much and she falls back again, thudding against the ground. The shadow looms closer still.

“Angel…?  _ Angel!” _

The world slowly returns to her weary eyes, and when she comes to all she can see is the kids standing over her. 

“Holy shit, are you okay?” 

They’re all crowded around her in worry, looking over her in concern, crouched to examine her beaten condition. The stars are merely a backdrop now.

“Oh I’m fine…” She says weakly, letting tears of relief well in her eyes. “Just… Slipped and fell. Clumsy me, right?” 

She laughs bitterly and then sucks in air through her teeth with a gasp. She groans.

“Nah, I… I went looking for you guys and… Ran into Hockstetter. He beat a raincheck into my stomach and t-threw me over the Kissing Bridge.”

“Jesus.”

“ _ Fuck _ man.”

“They got you too, huh?” Stan says, his voice feeble and frail. She takes a closer look at him, standing above her. He’s all disheveled and bruised and his costume is ripped to shreds. Eddie and Richie have him with an arm around each of their necks, propping him up.

“Awh, Stan, your costume…” She says, genuinely heartbroken. She coughs again.

“It’s… Okay. Definitely could’ve been worse.” He assures her. She can see the pain on his face.

“How’d…  _ Fuck… _ How’d you guys… Find each other again?” She asks, trying to sit up but only making it about halfway.

“Well, Richie and I stuck together in the crowd after we lost you.” Ed explains. “We only managed to find Bill near the library because he took his costume off, and the three of us went down Up-Mile-Hill again to look for Stan after that.”

“We found him in the alley next to Tracker Brothers, said the Bowers Gang split up and left him to look for us after they were done beating the snot out of him.” Richie adds. “They didn’t find us, thank fuck, but it looks like they found you. Well, one of them anyway.”

‘A-Anyways…” Bill speaks up. “We heard you s-s-scream… From across the Barrens, so we hurried over as f-fast as we c-could. Couldn’t find you on the b-bridge, but then s-suh-Stan spotted you down here near the canal.”

“Sorry we got here so late.” Eds says apologetically.

“Don’t worry about it.” She says, trying to sit up again. She winces. “I just… Think I’ve had enough for one night, and I'm sure…  _ God… _ All the rest of you have too. Think we should probably find some way to get me home that doesn’t involve a stretcher.”

“We could all try to help get you up the hill, but what about Stan?” Eds asks, glancing at him from the side.

“I’ll be fine.” He says. He steadies himself before removing his arms from Ed and Richie’s shoulders. “I’m sore but nothing seems broken. She’s definitely in worse condition than me anyway.”

“...Thanks Stan.” She sighs with gratitude.

"Don't mention it." He smiles.

“Alright so… Are we doing this?” 

“Yeah.” Angel agrees weakly. “Let’s give it a shot.”

Ed and Richie both pull on her arms and Bill supports her back as she struggles to get up. She hisses in pain as she scoots forward on the ground, and then she finds her legs, moving forward onto her knees so she can stand. She gasps as she gets up, and all four of them immediately move to keep her upright. She straightens her back and takes a deep breath in through her nose, breathing out through her mouth as she takes her first step forward. It gets harder as they reach the steep incline leading up towards the road, but against all odds they make their way back up. The walk home is long and painful despite the shortcuts they take but thankfully the crowds have all but dissipated completely at this point. Halloween seems to officially have come to an end and the streets are deathly silent now.

The second they come through Angel’s front door they waste no time in getting her to the couch. They lay her down on the cushions and she immediately sinks into the soft gingham, wincing and groaning in pain. Bill takes one of the pillows laying decoratively on one end and uses it to prop her head up. Richie and Ed help get her situated while Stan sinks down tiredly onto the floor next to one arm of the couch. 

“You think anything is broken?” Ed asks worriedly. “Because, I can call 911. In fact, I think we probably should just to be safe.” He’s already walking towards the phone.

“No no, Eds, that’s okay. Don’t worry, I think I’m good. I think maybe my ribs are bruised, but I don’t think I broke anything.” 

He puts the phone back on the hook. “You sure?”

“Quite sure. Promise promise.”

“Well… Alright. Either way, we should try to get the other stuff patched up.” Ed says, immediately striding over to his backpack now. “Luckily, I came prepared. My mom always makes me carry a first-aid kit around.”

“Nerd.” Richie mutters under his breath.

Eddie makes quick work of Angel’s wounds, disinfecting them with alcohol and applying bandages to all her cuts. Then once he’s done, he admires his handiwork.

“There. Not quite good as new, but I’m sure you’ll be better in a couple days.”

“Thanks Eds.” She says gratefully. Eddie has already gotten to work patching up Stan too.

“What now, though?” Richie asks. “Do we just… Go home? I was hoping to trade candy.”

“Dude, she’s dying.”

“I’m not  _ dying.” _ She insists thinly from the couch. “If you guys wanna trade candy, then by all means. I owe you for getting me home tonight.”

“Are you s-s-sure, Angel? We don’t want to make things any h-harder on you.”

“Nah,” she says with a wave of her hand. “I don’t mind. Trade candy, watch a few movies, have some fun. Forgive me if I don’t join you, though, need some sleep after all this shit. Do your parents know you’re spending the night?”

“We can spend the night?” Richie asks, perking up.

“Sure. I don’t want you kids walking home alone after what happened tonight, too risky. And I’m not in any shape to take any of you back, either, so I don’t mind.”

“Well, n-none of us really c-cuh-cleared it with our parents…” Bill admits.

“Yeah…”

“...Maybe you can call them up in the morning.” Stan suggests, his voice muffled from between his hands. “Tell them we were too tired to walk home after we got done trick or treating. They know we’re with you, and we’ve slept over before.”

“Works for me.” Angel shrugs. “Well, I’m heading off to bed, you guys know the drill. Out before 6:30 and fold the blankets before you leave.”

“You got it, boss.” Richie salutes. 

“Thanks Angel.”

She stops in the doorway of her room. “Thank  _ you.” _ She says with a genuine smile and a wince. She shuts her bedroom door behind her.

Mayor Jello is already asleep on the bed. Time seems surreal as she gets undressed, peeling off all the layers to her costume and shucking them carelessly off to the side as she tiredly scans the walls of her room in vacant thought. Her eyes travel all over her various keepsakes and eventually make their way over to her open closet. Dozens of painted ceramic clowns stare at her innocently from the shelf as she removes her clothes and in the silent emptiness of it all, she blushes. She pops a couple painkillers, washing it down with a hearty swig of water at her bedside table, then carefully crawls into bed with a long and hedonistic sigh. She can hear the chatter and uproarious laughter of the children just down the hall and it makes her smile. 

Nestling into the blanket, she lets her mind wander as she lays her head down into the plush of her cotton pillow, reflecting over all that had happened tonight with a kind of wistfully retrospective lens. She couldn’t deny that it was most certainly a very eventful holiday, more than she quite frankly could have bargained for. She’s just beyond relieved that she and the children all managed to end up together in one piece again. She’s worried for Stan’s condition, and quite frankly, worried what his parents might say when they learn of it, but she pushes those worries away for now, instead letting her mind wander toward Pennywise again. It was strange, what had happened earlier that night. She was almost sure she saw him in that crowd, but even stranger still was her reaction to seeing him in the first place. The urge to approach him had overcome her like a mad fever, and it had been an urge so powerful it separated her from the children. All she could do in that moment was try to reach him, like she was a moth fluttering desperately towards the warmth of faraway flame. And then, once he had gone, she had been so  _ cold  _ again. It was like he was a vision, a mirage so vivid and tangible but a mirage all the same, dissipating into nothing as she drew ever closer. Just a vision, a fantasy, a  _ dream. _

Her thoughts bring her into peaceful slumber, and from there she meanders into the all-too-familiar setup again, the same telltale scenario she’d encountered dozens of times by now. Waking up in the morning, getting ready for work… The feeling of loneliness and desolation stewing within the town, the clacking of her heels against the sidewalk the only instrument playing in an otherwise empty orchestra as she makes her way to the library. Working her shift, ignoring the cold shivers that roll down her back, the way the emptiness made her feel small and vulnerable… And the way that things always shifted, when she hears the whispers for the first time. How she follows the voice, and the way warmth seeps back into her bones with every step, like she’s simply a corpse rediscovering life. The feelings that bubble up inside her when she sees him for the first time, there in a place far below the town, standing there like he’s been waiting thousands of years just for her. 

He faces away from her for a time, and when the silence becomes too much she always finds inexplicable strength in her voice. She calls to him.

“H-Hello?”

He slowly faces her now, his eyes glowing warmly in the darkness. They’re not mean or intimidating, only warm, like two golden tears shed from the sun, like glimmering, shimmering stars. She does not shrink back from his blinding stare even as it numbs her, even as it makes her blood scream out for something unknown and fills her with shrieking, seething insanity. He doesn’t answer with his words but the way he holds out his hand fills her with purpose; she trudges forward on deadened feet, closing the gap between them slowly but surely. And usually, that’s where the dream would almost always end. Sometimes she would hear a delicious whisper in her ear as she drew closer, might even feel the sensation of hands ghosting lightly over her exposed skin, but she would always wake before anything really happened, before he got a chance to truly touch her. It always frustrated her to no end.

“Angel…” She can hear the smile in his voice. There he stands, waiting for her to come. But then, but  _ then… _ He takes a step forward himself, keeping his arm outstretched as he moves, her heart skipping a beat in her chest as he does so. This was… This was  _ new.  _ She resists the powerful urge to run towards him now, forcing herself to keep the same slow and composed pace from before as she keeps going. He continues in his own fashion, his eyes rooted on her, his suit jingling ever so slightly with each step and all she can think about is how desperate she is to feel it in her fingers. The thought is so deliciously sublime that each step gets lighter and lighter, and then eventually she leaves the ground completely. She starts to float in the cold air, starts to float away from him, and her dismay only sends her higher, higher and further away from his reach. 

“P-Pennywise!” She cries out. She tries to swim down towards him to no avail, the current of the air is simply too strong. He doesn’t speak as he stares at her from below, but his voice is there in her mind regardless.

_ “I’ll always protect you, my sweet.” _

Her eyes flutter open. It’s morning, she can tell by the light that shines through the curtains and the way the birds chirp from the trees outside.  _ 7:27 _ , the clock at her bedside reads. Reality returns to her waking mind as she wiggles her toes underneath the warmth of the comforter, and as she adjusts her head on her pillow she can feel something odd laying underneath it. Another gift, maybe? As she sits up and regards it with wary eyes, she feels almost like a child unearthing spoils from a late night visit from the tooth fairy, and when she removes it she can’t stop the breath from hitching in her throat, a smile spreading across her face at the discovery.

It’s her pearl heart pendant, and beside it, a grape-flavored Tootsie Pop.

She walks out into the chilly living room, nothing on save for the necklace and a t-shirt. The living room is bare now, all sign of the Losers gone as she surveys the surroundings with tired eyes and steps towards the couch. Unwrapping the Tootsie Pop, she slides it in her mouth as she sits down, turning on the TV with a sigh. The local news is on, and the sight of the headline makes her heart sink with dread.

Patrick Hockstetter was declared missing.


	10. Interplay

She simply couldn't explain it. Once she had laid eyes on the impersonal words of the news broadcast that morning, memories of the night previous came flooding back in a torrent. It was almost like a waking nightmare. She re-lived it all; the search for Stan, seeing Pennywise amid the crowd on Up-Mile-Hill, losing the rest of the children, running into Patrick, being thrown off the bridge... But one specific detail juts out in her subconscious. The screaming; the wet, the tearing, her ears ringing with it as she fought desperately to stay cognizant despite the increasing pain in her ribs. She was terrified in her haze, fearing that once she faded to black she may never wake up again, a helpless victim of whatever had preyed upon her sadistic assailant. Even worse was that her guardian angel seemed to be concerningly absent during the whole ordeal, leaving her vulnerable to whatever stood lurking in the shadows. To tell the truth, she was truly traumatized after what had happened last night, but she forced herself to pull it together for them, for the kids. She couldn't afford to let them see her fall apart, not when they'd just been through trauma of their own. She was the adult, she needed to be strong. There was simply no other option.

The Losers’ parents had, for the most part, been fairly understanding about the impromptu sleepover from the night before. Though the whole of Derry didn’t seem to harbor much of a liking for Angel overall, she at least held favor with the Losers’ parents. She’d been babysitting for the likes of them for years and was a trusted authority figure for them at this point, so they saw no issue in letting her take the parenting reins whenever they couldn’t be bothered to do so themselves. That was a lot of the time, to be plainly frank. Derry’s adult population was often painfully oblivious and patently negligent, and that included the parents too. Even the more meddlesome ones like Eddie’s mother were still prone to it, content to control their children to a certain extent but leaving the rest to whoever cared enough to step in and finish the job. They had all responded to her phone call with something of a blase indifference; Ed’s mom simply asked if he’d taken his medicine, Richie’s parents were relieved to have kept him out of the house at all, and Bill’s hadn’t even answered the phone. The only parents to have raised any kind of issue were Stan’s, and that was largely due to his physical condition when they got him back the following morning. She’d gotten a bit of an earful over her supposed carelessness in taking care of him, and they’d informed her that Stan would be taking a break from visits with friends for the time being. She felt bad, but she knew that there wasn’t much she could do about it.

She called out that day, finding her injuries both mental and physical too much to stomach working her shift for the time being. It was about time she took a day off anyway; something a little extra could surely come of use to her. Things were hard as of late, and besides her coping mechanisms there wasn't much else to keep her happy. Her coping mechanisms could only go so far, too; they were like a bandaid to a grievous wound, they could only do so much. She was slowly but surely declining. She was putting off laundry, she was neglecting her personal hygiene, eating too much. She was losing interest in her passions the last few weeks; she hadn't been able to finish so much as a sketch most of the time. The only thing she could seem to draw was him, but she couldn't really put her finger on why. She would get the urge sometimes during the Derry Children's Hour, and before she knew it she was there on the sofa, rendering him distinctly in her own quirky style, enjoying the feel of the pencil as she detailed the whimsical curls of his hair and the luxurious silk sleeves on his suit. Beyond that she was creatively void, nothing would come to her besides him. He seemed to be a muse for her, and she could only surmise that it was because he brought her a sense of comfort and solace. He made her happy, and she maybe… Just maybe… Had a little bit of a crush. 

Actually, forget little. It was full-blown. She couldn’t stop herself smiling ear to ear whenever she saw him now; couldn’t help herself giggling like a school girl whenever he spoke whimsically or played silly little games with the children, whenever he did that adorable laugh of his. He always spoke of himself in the third person, too, something she’d always found particularly cute and endearing. There was just so much about him that she enjoyed, and she couldn’t control the way she couldn’t control herself when she thought about him. All she wanted to do was hug him in her distress; feel those long arms closing around her, keeping her safe from the big, bad world she lived in. Look into those cerulean eyes, feel the sense of content seeping back into her bones like the warmth of a lit fireplace on a cold, winter's night. And how he would crack jokes, make her laugh, make all her troubles melt away with expertly crafted wit and jest. She wanted him. It seemed silly and stupid, but it was true nonetheless. 

And with each passing day she felt that desire grow stronger, as infatuations are want to do. She knew she could never possibly indulge it, but she enjoyed the fantasies anyway. She imagined him whisking her into a dip, the drumroll, the apex to a truly romantic moment, before he leaned in for the kiss… She blushes just thinking about it, letting the fleeting thought linger in her mind as long as it cared to before being replaced by other thoughts. How ridiculous it all was, but in this current state of affairs she couldn’t deny the comfort of a fixation. It kept her distracted, as distracted as she could be anyway; distracted from the increasing turbulence of life, the doldrums of depression. It kept her distracted from the mystery of Georgie’s disappearance, and the likely implication that whatever had attacked Patrick might surely have had a hand in his vanishment too. It was a terrifying thought, and one that most certainly shook her to her core, as the thought of having narrowly dodged being at the mercy of such a monster was too uncomfortable to stomach. She briefly ruminates on the thought of her own face plastered to all the latest missing posters around town and it makes her shiver. Maybe her guardian angel really was keeping her safe. Maybe she was lucky after all.

As the days of November progressed, she found herself sleeping in more and more, and before she knew it she was regularly losing half her days off to long, indulgent naps. She couldn’t help it; it was hard not to be tired in times like these, hard not to call it quits after draining days at work, and to tell the truth… She was chasing those dreams. She hadn’t been having them as of late, not since Halloween, a phenomenon she found truly perplexing, and it was admittedly making her stew in dismay whenever she woke in the morning. Those dreams were something of an escape for her; she looked forward to having them, as much so as she looked forward to the gifts from her guardian angel. They made her feel watched over, they made her feel safe. She so badly wanted to feel safe, and she wanted to see him. There was still the Derry Children’s Hour, but his appearance was never a guarantee. Up until they’d stopped, the dreams had been just such an assurance. But no longer, it seems, at least not for now. She briefly worried that it may signify the end of her infatuation, short-lived and intense as like many others, but with all her chagrin about having possibly lost him, she reasonably doubted that to be the case.

Pennywise was all too delighted to witness this in her, the desperation to see him that he so badly wished to cultivate. It made him stew in anticipation from day to day; as he prowled beneath Derry, taking his meals and sipping the fear of all who he chose to subject to his torments. He would think about her always as he took them for his appetite, imagined sating a different hunger as he let the sumptuous blood from his victims drip from his jowls; licking his lips, savoring the taste of the flavors mingling together on his palate. He was content to leave her gifts but he had decided to stop the dreams at least for now, leaving her mind empty to the possibility of his coaxing and alluring sweet talk so that she may come crawling back to him, begging him for those delicious little manipulations once more. He had the dream repeat with little variation on purpose; he wanted her to be hungry for more, wanted her hopeless with desire until he was all she could think of. He knew that that would take time; slow and steady wins the race after all, but he would see to it that it happened no matter the cost. And he knew she was already well on her way, with her life slowly declining, with the way she was falling headfirst into all her unhealthy habits once more.

To tell the truth, that did concern him greatly. He wanted her to be happy; wanted that almost as much as he wanted his own happiness, and to see her so downcast on a day to day basis worried him. He knew how prone she was to self-destructive behavior, how her moods would swing on a dime; he knew how she could go from feeling good to spiralling into negativity in a matter of weeks or even days. He knew she wasn’t immune to thoughts of such things as suicide either, and he truly couldn’t stand the thought of losing her to such a thing. No, better such an act be reserved for anyone else in the town too weak to face the bedlam of their insignificant existence, but not her. Never her. Thankfully, however, he didn’t worry of that so much. She was such a strong, resilient, stubborn girl. He’d known that as he slept, known so much about her life that she wasn’t even aware of, and thankfully it was coming in handy now that the time was upon him to take her. Of course, it would be in due time, but he would see to it that it happened before the end of his cycle, before he returned to the bowels of Derry, deep below in the cavernous reaches of a place unknown to a single living soul to take his long twenty-seven year rest once more. How he longed to take her with him, keep her by his side, eternally youthful as they wandered through the long and winding, ageless passage of time together. The thought truly enchanted him; Pennywise was a creature who wanted little else than to eat and sleep forever, but there was something else missing for so long that he was eager to keep for his own. And now that it was here, now that she was here, he would do everything in his power to win her. It was simply an urge, an instinct he couldn’t control no more than he could control his hunger for fear and flesh. He needed it.

And despite the fact that she didn’t yet realize it, she needed it too. She had been missing the same thing her entire life, a companion to love and cherish her, keep her grounded during the hard times and give her a steady shoulder to cry on. She needed it because she was just so lonely, nowadays her only friendly acquaintances being the presence of those loathsome brats. He still grimaces at the thought, knowing that their continued existence was a liability to his plans but knowing he couldn’t eat them so soon for fear of alienating her, of scaring her away. It was a tricky situation to be sure, and one he needed to make sure he wouldn’t fuck up. He only got one shot at this, and he dared not to think of failure. It simply couldn’t be. And oh, how he would love and adore her, how he would bolster her and shower her, lavish her in affection and tenderness when he finally won her. She would reciprocate his attentions in full, she would idolize him and return his gestures in earnest, happy to demonstrate her gratitude from that which would save her from herself. 

And that was to say nothing of his primal urges. Pennywise was rather an animalistic thing, driven by raw and unabated desire, and this was something he had desired for quite a long time. He’d known of her dormant soul for so long, a gift bestowed upon him by a greater force, and he had waited ages just for her to be born into this shitty little world. Pennywise was an entity, a creature just as any other that longed to fuck and to breed. He was no different than that of a dog in that respect; he wanted to fill his mate with seed and watch her stomach grow full with his spawn, his children. It was what she was intended for, it was her purpose; it was her purpose to be with him, to stay with him, and to take whatever he pleased to give her. He entertains the thought of her laying beneath him, simpering and whining for him to take her and he finds himself salivating at the mere idea of it. Her rosy red cheeks flush with wanton yearning, how she would squirm and beg for his cock to fill her. Crying out in pure pleasure as he ruts in and out of her, taking his size so perfectly, her warm wet tightness deliciously sheathing his length, because she was made just for him. It spurs him on, gives him the drive to continue his manipulations, as he only knew it was building towards an eternity of happiness, of having gotten exactly what he wanted just as he always did.

She was simply unaware of the greater scheme of things, of the thing pulling strings without her notice. While she knew there was something amiss in Derry, she hadn’t yet connected the dots linking everything together. She hadn’t the time nor the energy to spend thinking on it too much, although she was still patently uneasy as a result of the events that had transpired on Halloween. She tried her best not to think of it, tried to disregard the guilt creeping into her mind ever since that night, plaguing her thoughts whenever a vacancy was present. Ah, survivor’s guilt. Though she greatly disliked Patrick Hockstetter, she hadn’t wished him to suffer such a clearly gruesome fate. It was true he was a little shit of a kid, and she had no doubt he’d done far worse than push a girl off a bridge, but she still couldn’t fathom it. That just wasn’t the kind of person she was. She tried to forget as she continued on with her life, but the sound of his screams lingered in her mind like a hook on the most haunting song in existence. It was hard to forget the paralyzing, sweat-soaked horror she’d felt as she lay there immobilized, and she wanted more than ever to feel safe, to feel the aura of her protector sweeping over her like a delicate but comforting perfume. No such luck, however, even as she crawled into bed, eager to resume the pattern of dreams she’d been having but coming up disappointingly short.

Despite the lack of dreams, she’d kept finding gifts at the very least. Throughout the month she was pleased to find herself amassing a collection of various little things; old jewelry, buttons, marbles, shiny things like crumpled up tinfoil and metal barrettes. She’d even found another bouquet of dying sunflowers, this time placed conspicuously outside her stoop for her delight, a welcome surprise as she stepped out the door one morning to make her way to work. Whatever was leaving these things seemed aware of the fact that she specifically liked offerings of pearls and would more often than not would leave strings of them in different colors tangled in tree branches for her to find. It made her feel fuzzy, the thought that something cared enough for her to discern whether or not she had a particular preference for something. She kept all these things in an old chocolate box, and when she found herself having a hard day, when she couldn’t find Pennywise on the Derry Children’s Hour or couldn’t bring herself to manage a single sketch she would look into it and simply smile, letting that wonderful warmth take over again. 

Before Angel knew it the end of November was upon her already, and the occasion of Thanksgiving was fast approaching. Though most chose to spend the holiday with loved ones, Angel had decided to opt out this year, not caring to make the journey to Haven to see her family as she found it particularly stressful and hard on her socially. She had already planned to go out to see them for Christmas and she hadn’t been... Particularly looking forward to it. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see them; rather, she didn’t want them to see  _ her _ . Not like this. She was having a hard time keeping up appearances as of late, and she was particularly vulnerable around her family. She knew there was the risk of potentially pouring her heart out to them, and it might have been fine as a child and as a teenager, but as an adult it was just embarrassing. She wanted to put on an air of confidence. She wanted to convince them that she was doing just fine on her own, that she didn’t need their help, not anymore. And right now, she didn’t know that she could manage it. Maybe next month, when she had more time to get her shit together.

So she planned to spend it alone. The Losers were all obligated to spend the holiday with their own families, so it was simply her with the company of Mayor Jello to keep her from complete isolation. She didn’t mind it so much; maybe she would rediscover her love for cooking along the way. Maybe it would make her happy for a little while. She had no idea, but it was worth a shot. So she went to the local grocery, stocked up on plenty of cooking supplies, and made her way back home to undertake the arduous task of creating a Thanksgiving dinner all on her lonesome. She had decided on a menu of the obligatory turkey, honey-glazed ham, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and gravy. She also planned to make sweet potato casserole for dessert; something she’d always loved growing up. She always fancied herself something of a decent cook. Of course, baking was her specialty, but she was reasonably competent in the other areas of the craft, so how hard could it be to manage a single meal? She even looked forward to it a little bit, not just for the sake of delicious food, but because she remembered deriving such joy and enthusiasm from the activity. She could use a little enthusiasm right now.

She comes through the door with several plastic bags dangling off her arms and a backpack strapped to her back to house the turkey. She comes in, she sets her groceries down in the kitchen, and then sets to the task of unbagging everything so that she can start as soon as possible. Thanksgiving was the next day, and she was content to do a little prep work so that the proceedings would go by that much more smoothly. She decides to start with the gravy, knowing that she could store it ahead of time without much hassle. She sets a sizeable dab of butter down in a skillet and lets it brown while she cubes a loaf of bread for the stuffing. After she sets the bread aside to stale she checks on the butter, and then she whisks in about a quarter cup of flour to thicken it. She lets the flavor of the beef broth waft through the house as she stirs it into the mixture and indulges in the rich, savory smell as it comes together in a nice coagulated sauce, then sets it aside in a Tupperware in the fridge for safekeeping. She peels the potatoes, chops and stores them in a pot of cold water, and along the way she finds herself smiling and humming while she sets about her tasks. She always found cooking to be a therapeutic sort of activity, one she didn’t mind taking her time with, and she was pleased to rediscover a small flicker of her affinity for it. When she finishes her prep for the night she reclines to her bedroom for some much-deserved rest and leaves the day behind her. Another night without a dream.

She sleeps in late despite a conscious effort not to, and resumes her prep the next day in something of a foul mood. Not even Mayor Jello could charm her out of her irritation, futile meows and purrs falling on her deaf ears as she throws her hair in a scrunchie and sets about the kitchen in a brisk and impatient pace. She finishes up the stuffing, mashes the potatoes, and preps the ham for glazing, which she shoves into the rack below the turkey to roast after she’s done. Things were coming along rather swimmingly so far despite her aggravation and general tension, and she felt rather proud of herself for having come this far on her own. See, she didn’t need her family to get things done. She could manage herself just fine on her own. In time her bad mood starts to dissolve and she finds herself in good spirits again, whistling a merry tune as she takes things out of the oven and sets things aside to continue preparing others. It was well past six at this point and the sky was darkening outside, clouds in the sky illuminated by a bright waning moon. She rather enjoyed the sight of it through the sliding glass door to her backyard, and found herself gazing outside absentmindedly as she continued her prepwork. 

All that was left was to put the finishing touches on the turkey and make the sweet potato casserole, which to be honest was a relatively easy recipe. She hadn’t the patience to peel two different batches of potatoes so she simply opted to buy the canned kind to save herself some headache. She mashes them in a pot and sets them to low-medium heat, and once they’re of reasonable temperature she stirs in the brown sugar. She estimates a healthy dosing of vanilla extract to bring out the flavors more, and as the time passes the house fills with a fugue of sweet and savory mingling together to create something truly captivating. She’d been saving her appetite all day, and truth be told she was really looking forward to finally sitting down. She pours the sweet potato mixture into a glass pan and covers it with a generous helping of mini-marshmallows before she replaces it with the turkey and the ham in the oven. Both look absolutely wonderful; she’d rubbed the turkey all over with butter and set it to roast with a blend of fresh herbs, and the ham, scored with cross-hatch, had come out a gorgeous candied red on the crisp outside. She starts to slice the turkey, cutting off a leg along with a sizable chunk of ham, just counting the minutes until the casserole comes out of the oven and she can finally start eating. She shreds a few pieces of white meat and deposits it into Mayor Jello’s bowl, who eagerly starts to eat once she finishes dumping it in.

She bides her time, trying to stave off impatience and letting the TV distract her until the oven finally beeps (she’d been watching a re-run of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, and found herself momentarily placated by the array of colorful floats and vivacious performances), and then she gets off the couch to sojourn over to the oven. She’d kept her turkey and ham carvings in the oven so they would stay warm, and as she started to take the plates out of the oven she couldn’t wait to reap the delicious spoils of all her hard work, the sights and smells enough to make her mouth water in anticipation. Her hands are shielded by bunched up kitchen towels and as she sets her meat plate down she goes to reach for the sweet potato casserole. She has a sturdy grip on the dish but the dishtowels around her fingers start to slip, and as she pulls it from the oven her skin makes contact with the molten hot glass.

“FUCK!”

**_SMASH!_ **

All it had taken was one moment, and with one minor slipup, she had found her dessert a mess on the floor, covering the linoleum of the kitchen with a disheartening mess of sweet potato mixture and shards of broken glass. She stares down at it for a moment, not fully processing yet what had just happened, not even the pain of a single piece of shrapnel that had lodged itself in her bare foot from the impact. And then, after an eternally long beat of silence, she feels the tears welling up in her eyes, her lip quivering, the heat of dismay starting to bubble up through the skin of her face. She sinks down to the floor and starts sobbing; ugly, loud, inconsolable sobs, and in no time at all her face is a mess of hot tears and snot. She covers her face with her hands and continues to weep, and there in the silence of the room, there is nothing to console her save for Mayor Jello, who comes from his food bowl to rub against her leg. She appreciates the gesture but she cannot, for the life of her, summon the strength to reciprocate his affections right now, so she simply pushes him away and continues in her heartbroken wailing.

This continues from some time, even as the food grows cold and the sky grows darker and darker still. She’s there, frozen on the floor amidst a heap of her broken efforts, and she can’t seem to stop crying even as she pauses to take deep gasping breaths in through her runny nose. Her eyes are red and puffy and her cheeks are furnace-hot, and all she can hear is static in her ears, her legs growing numb from having been folded so long. She shouldn’t get so worked up over something like this, it was one simple mistake. It was only one thing, everything else had turned out so well, but all the same she finds herself demoralized, drowning in crippling misery. Seconds become minutes and minutes become an hour, and she’s still there on the floor, sniffling and staring off into space. And then, feeling starts to return to her, a very particular, unmistakable feeling, and she looks up with bloodshot eyes to hear something plinking against the glass door leading into the backyard. When she gets up to investigate, she steps gingerly over the broken glass to inspect something bobbing against the sliding door. She opens it cautiously, looking out.

Tied to the handle is a peculiar sight, one she hadn’t seen before until now. She knew it to be from her guardian angel, because she had felt the warmth of their presence spreading through the dead feeling in her legs, had felt that strange otherworldly hum coursing through her like a vivid wave just moments before. It’s a beautiful red helium balloon, tied to the handle of the door, and she truly doesn’t know what to make of it in this moment. She’s utterly speechless, and simply can’t fathom the timing of this particular offering. If there was any doubt in her mind at this point that she had a guardian angel in the first place it was surely cast to the wayside, as there was simply no way of denying it now that there was so much irrefutable proof. She feels the tears again, but they’re different now. They’re tears of joy, silent joy brimming in her hazel eyes, butterflies starting to flutter restlessly in her stomach as she regards the balloon with wonder and amazement. Now all of a sudden what had happened before didn’t seem so bad, as she’s so taken by this gesture that she simply cannot feel the negativity anymore. It’s washing away from her as she wordlessly studies the balloon, thoughts drifting through her frazzled mind. She debates what to do with it; she knew that it would inevitably lose its helium and deflate. She couldn’t  _ possibly _ think to discard it when the time came, it would simply make her too sad. After a moment of contemplation she knows what she wants to do, and she pulls the scrunchie out of her hair, letting her chestnut tresses fall about her shoulders as she unties the balloon from the door handle. She winds the scrunchie around the knot at the bottom and secures it with another loose knot below, writing a message on the balloon with the help of a nearby marker. She scrutinizes it for a long moment, admiring her handiwork, and then she takes a deep breath and lets it float off into the sky. It continues its ascent until she can no longer see it among the clouds. It has simply disappeared from sight and she smiles.

**~~~~**

Snuffling at the delicious scent of her essence through the fabric, Pennywise grins with sheer glee as he favors the message written on the returned balloon. “Thankful for you,” it says, accented with a heart and bobbing carelessly under the ceiling of the wagon. He can hardly contain himself, he’s so filled with delight that he rejoices in it, revels in it, dancing amid puddles of grime in the sewers below. After all this time, after all his hard work, he had started to see the fruits of his labor bloom so beautifully. She had left him something in return, had even spoken to him in a fashion; she had started to reciprocate his affections, and the simple thrill of it is so sublime, so wonderfully decadent that he cannot stop himself from jingling in excitement at the thought. He truthfully hadn’t known how she would respond to his offerings at first; he hadn’t known she would react so positively, but knowing that she has simply makes him all the more arrogant, all the more self-assured. She was becoming putty in his hands, and in no time at all he would get what he wanted, he knew it. She would be his, she would give herself to him, she would love him and she would give him everything she had. He just needed a little more time to win her, to pull her strings until she wanted nothing else but him. He nuzzles against her gift, and carefully places it in a dedicated corner of his stage. Safe and secure, and he was sure the first of many. He would collect little trinkets from her just as he would leave ones in kind, and in time their bond would grow. Derry simmers with a low, rumbling purr, a noise of content from its enigmatic and insatiable beast. No one would disappear on this night.


	11. Winter Blues

The blustery chill of December has swept over Derry in a dense blanket of fresh fallen snow, a sentimental au revoir to the last lingering notes of autumn and a greeting to the shivering delight of winter. The season has quickly come into full swing, and the white on the ground has gotten so cumbersome that snowplows have already taken to diligently freeing the thoroughfares of its icy burden on a day to day basis. Bellringers are posted outside the local grocery, coaxing spare change out of the occasional passerby and boisterously wishing everyone a Merry Christmas. The citizens have started donning full winter regalia every time they leave the house, including Angel whose winter wardrobe consisted almost exclusively of black turtlenecks, scarves, and cozy fleece leggings with snow boots. Decorations are peppered heavily throughout town, singing the festive cheer of the upcoming holidays with jubilant glee and fervor. The scent of cinnamon seems almost elegantly ubiquitous, even outside amongst the great, big, snowcapped pines. It is unquestionably a winter wonderland, a scene inescapable in the heart of majestic Maine. But the town is not without grim reminders of its history, with impersonal missing posters still plastered visibly all over store windows, billboards and alleyways and a brand new curfew in effect. This had been put into place recently after one disappearance too many, and was announced via a stern warning posted on the letterboard outside the Derry Elementary School. “Remember the curfew,” it says. Similarly worded signs are all over the inner walls of the library too. Angel got an uneasy feeling every time she passed them.

School had recently let out for winter break, and the Losers were all appropriately excited for the long-awaited reprieve, as it gave them all much-needed respite from the trials and tribulations of being young outcasts. Angel sympathized with this struggle quite well; she remembered always counting the days before school ended even as a young child, putting her everything into school projects to distract herself from how miserable she was everyday and just waiting for the clock to strike three on each fateful quarter’s end. She remembered it vividly as much as she wished she didn’t, painful memories of adversity she wished she could simply forget. She could at the very least grant that it was over now, and none of it could hurt her anymore. The kids had come over the first day of break, and had brought with them tales of what was clearly an eventful season at school.

“Bowers almost caught my ass last day before break, do you guys remember?”

“Yeah, dude, I’ve never seen you so white. How’d you get away?”

“Lost him in the crowd.” Richie says, reclining back on the couch. “On the way out I ran back around to homeroom and hid under teach’s desk. I swear, that idiot has a baby’s concept of object permanence. Wouldn’t be able to find his own ass with two hands and a flashlight.”

“You’re lucky she wasn’t there.” Angel says, laughing behind a mug of schnapps-spiked hot chocolate. “That raggedy old bitch would have ratted you out. She still the worst?”

Richie snorts. “You know it. She almost sent Eds to the principal last week for blowing his nose too loud. Claimed he was ‘passing notes through morse code.’”

“God, what a load of bullshit.”

But ever since then, it’d been pretty quiet. There were times like these, to tell the truth, when the Losers were all simply busy with their own lives and she was busy with hers. Communication would fall to the wayside for a time on occasion but things would always go back to normal eventually. She simply expected they were off having adventures, contending with their own challenges and childhood adversities that she had at one point grappled with herself; getting into scrapes, maybe even making a couple new friends along the way. She smiles at the thought. Never too many in a group like theirs. And she would simply continue in her own occupations, continue the routine she had fallen into. Work was autopilot for her at this point, and easy, if a bit tedious and mind-numbing. She tried to remind herself of that as she worked day to day; in these times of difficulty it was good practice to count your blessings and try not to take them for granted. This was a good job, and one that was certainly a far cry better than the last one she had. She knew it was not something to be squandered.

But even still, she cannot deny the growing feeling of crushing ennui festering in her head, that familiar sinking dread as her alarm went off every morning, jarring her out of peaceful, oblivious slumber and bringing her back to all her obligations, her duties and responsibilities that she could evade for a time just by setting her head back on the pillow. Present in all the incidents of the last couple months were telling warnings of a brewing storm, a funk she would likely not come out of for months if she wasn’t careful. She was fighting it with everything she had, but everything she had didn’t necessarily amount to a lot when she felt as low as she did. With the increasing lack of company, she had no reason to keep up appearances so long as she wasn’t working, so Angel would get caught in feedback loops of the same unhealthy behaviors. 

She would shower once a week at most, keeping the oil in her hair at bay with the aid of dry shampoo and body odors hidden with a thick veneer of deodorant and perfume. She was indulging too much in things that lacked any sort of nutritious substance and when she did cook, it was large doses of unnecessarily decadent frippery; cookies, cakes, pies, anything to fill the void. She would spend most of her free hours watching TV, would flit through the channels in sometimes futile errand to find the Derry Children’s Hour, a fickle discovery that could never seem to be found at the same time every day. It varied from week to week; sometimes it was on everyday in the morning before she left for work. Sometimes it was on during the evenings, and sometimes it seemed to start just as she was flipping through the channels. Sometimes it wasn’t on at all. When it wasn’t on at all, Angel would do one of two things; she would spend some time making new art of her muse, or she would go to bed in the hopes of seeing him in her dreams. When she slept, it was far too much, trying in vain to ignore how things were worsening; the unforgiving monotony of work, her loss of interest in her hobbies, the way her clothes were getting just a little bit tighter, just enough for her to be able to know. Maybe living by herself was harder than she made it out to be. She was far too proud to admit it though.

So she ignored it all, trying to raise her spirits enough in time for Christmas to make its much-anticipated arrival, before she would leave town and head out to Haven to see her family again. She only had so much time to get her shit together, so she tries to make a conscious effort to be present in all the holiday cheer. She had gone out to the thrift store just outside of town a couple weeks before in a hunt for decorations and had come back with a veritable melange of Christmas decor; bags upon bags of tacky, old ornaments, golden tinsel, ribbons, lights and fragrant candles, and even a wreath she’d hung outside her front door, but not before mounting an old picture of Khan Noonien Singh in the middle of it. She didn’t care if no one else found it funny. She’d pulled an album off her shelf (The Smiths,  _ The Queen is Dead _ ) and set it to play on her Sony turntable, and then quickly got lost in an afternoon of covering the house from top to bottom in festive finery. By the time she was done she could hardly recognize the place and neither could Mayor Jello, who was so disrupted by the changes in scenery that he broke two ornaments almost immediately. She was so gratified by a single productive afternoon that she treated herself to a big dinner and then promptly fell asleep, taking her from the early evening of one day into the late afternoon of the next.

She’d not felt particularly festive after that, unfortunately, as it turns out, a cornucopia of Christmas decorations was not enough to erase all of her problems. Her increasing fixation on Pennywise, as thrilling and refreshing as it was, seemed to clearly illustrate another trouble she was facing as of late; loneliness. It was a difficulty she’d had all her life, so she could hardly call it new. It had existed with her for almost as long as she could process memories, and had been one of her strongest and most consistent demons all throughout her childhood. She’d grown up a child to parents working graveyard shifts so they’d spent a great majority of her adolescence asleep during the day; she was decidedly unpopular in school, and was always the last picked from games of dodgeball in gym to group projects in reading class; even her adult life, although enriched by the presence of the Losers, was spent relatively in solitude. But one specific, categorical subset of loneliness was the worst of them all, and the one that plagued her the most consistently. It was rather a dumb thing to be insecure over, but just as Angel was the last to be picked for dodgeball and group projects, she was also the last one picked when it came to being anyone’s romantic prospect. As unpopular as she was socially, she seemed to get on even worse when it came to matters such as these, and the rumors perpetually circulating about her didn’t help things at all. She tried to ignore it, knowing that there was really nothing that could be done about it, but it still crushed her all the same when she would see happy couples all around her on the ever-dreaded Valentine’s Day, when she would be the only one without a date to all the stupid little school dances, when she couldn’t even get a decent friend to stick around let alone someone to hold her hand. She knew there were better things to get bent out of shape over, but she couldn’t shake the feelings of inadequacy all the same. It was just too hard.

That was why she leaned so hard into her coping mechanisms, her little crushes and all the things that made her happy. Distractions. She needed them desperately, or her mind was dead set on killing her, and she didn’t want to land herself in an early grave if she could help it. The crush on Pennywise was just such a distraction that kept her going from day to day, as were the continuing gifts from her guardian angel. The gifts were something all their own. In a sense, the gifts were a soothing balm to all the raw, aching emptiness she felt; she could delude herself with the fantasy that something actually liked her enough to court her, seek her interest. She knows she should be much more wary of such innocent offerings in a place like Derry; hell, if she were anyone else she probably  _ would _ be. But this was Angel. Long ignored, long suffering, long neglected, long forgotten Angel. Try as she might, she simply couldn’t spurn such benevolence, because she had spent her whole life wishing for just such a kindness. 

Ever since Thanksgiving she’d become increasingly more in tune to a growing pattern; that is, she had started to notice that the gifts would often correspond with her emotions or the way she was feeling. If she was feeling sad or dejected or otherwise deflated or downtrodden, she would start to get that ever-familiar feeling, that strange surge in energy she could only categorize as unexplainable; otherworldly; alien. And then, in a convenient place nearby, she would always find it, and when she did, she would somehow know that it was meant just for her. A gift. As time went on and she collected more and more things she started to feel closer to whatever it was, this being or force that was watching over her, this manifestation of good fortune that had seen fit to choose her, to have a fondness for  _ her  _ and for no one else. It was exciting, it was thrilling, it… Made her feel special.

So, in an effort to display her gratitude, Angel had started leaving gifts of her own. Since that Thanksgiving eve when she had set her hair scrunchie adrift in the dark dusk of Derry’s night sky, she could swear she’d felt that feeling surge and swell within it as it disappeared from sight, almost as though she could feel the beat of her guardian’s heart pulsing with hers like one. It was a feeling so genuinely different from what she felt before that she laid in bed that night electrified, and though she had no dream of Pennywise, she’d woke the next morning in a glow all the same. From then it had become a game of simple exchange. Angel would keep some kind of an item or trinket on her person; a necklace, earrings, maybe a tube of chapstick or a pack of chewing gum, and when she stumbled across their unmistakable calling card, she would leave something behind in the place of what she had taken. The feeling every time she would do so was unforgettable, and plainly addicting in a way she couldn’t put words to. So much so that she couldn’t stop herself from fretting over what she was going to leave for them next, from stressing herself out in that oh-so-delightful way that one does when deciding what to buy for their significant other on a date night.

Pennywise was finding himself in similar dire straits; he was not normally a creature of such indecisive quality, but this was his  _ soulmate _ , and she deserved only the best. He also hadn’t expected such eager reciprocation of his attentions, eventual as they were, and to be frank it had quite taken him by surprise. It was a pleasant surprise, but a surprise all the same. And now that she was starting to reciprocate, he’d suddenly grown something of a self-consciousness regarding his gifts. He didn’t want to leave her too many of the same thing; he didn’t want her to think his gifts were repetitive or worse yet, boring. He wanted to keep her attention, keep it in a vice, and only tighten the grip with time. So, during the long hours of the day when he spends time ruminating and choosing his meals, when he has all the time in the world to mull and think and brood, he’s thinking of her, and thinking what he might take next, what he might leave next that will make her happy. He knows that Christmas is an important time for humans, and he has an idea what he might give her, something special that can only come from him. He’ll set to making it immediately.

With Christmas speedily approaching, Angel is making her final preparations before she sets out for Haven. She’s packed up some clothes, cleaned the house (or, as much as she could be bothered to), and crammed a feeder full of food for Mayor Jello to keep him satisfied during her absence. She would only be gone a few days at most, so she knew he would be fine on his own. Before she sets out, she leaves a gift behind, along with a note (“Be back in a few days ♡”), set on the dining room table. It’s a Christmas tree ornament, one she’d found thrifting of a colorful mardi gras clown. She loved it, but decided it was something best left for her guardian angel. She figured the gift would mean more if there was sentimental value attached to it, and Christmas was a time of giving after all. So she leaves it behind and departs for Haven. The cab ride over is surprisingly quick and painless, and in no time at all she finds herself stepping outside to the welcoming committee of her family, who’s gathered outside her home to greet her.

The holiday in Haven is a pleasant one, if exhausting. She and her family make easy, casual conversation, catching up after months of not being in one another’s company. The day before Christmas is a hectic one, as they had all set up to do a little window shopping in an effort to get immersed in the Christmas spirit. They’d journeyed a little ways north to the Bangor shopping mall, and Angel found herself charmed by the nostalgic value of the outing, which she remembered from years past as her family always celebrated Christmas. She’d gotten a couple things while she was out, little trinkets from the likes of stores like Claire’s and Spencer’s Gifts. From Claire’s she got a small assortment of jewelry and makeup (things she could likely leave for her guardian angel, she finds herself thinking). From Spencer’s her purchases are a little more daring and scandalous, things she surely couldn’t ever divulge owning to her family. A few toys, things only an adult could enjoy. Angel had a fondness for things like this if she were frank, and it was the only outlet she had to explore her own sexuality, so she tried not to garner any shame when it came to owning them. She kept it hidden in her purse when she’d bought it, so as not to arouse any unwanted attention, and looked forward to trying them out when she got home.

Then came Christmas Eve dinner, which was much more draining, believe it or not. Angel hadn’t been looking forward to it all day, because she knew what was to come. More conversation, more needling questions about her life back in Derry. She knew they only meant well, and they were only parents concerned about their child, but she couldn’t help but dread it all as someone who hated invasive personal inquiries. Worse still was the fact that she was still as drained and tired here as she was back home. She thought leaving for a spell would do her some good but she’s just as groggy and irritated, and all she could do surrounded by family was try her damnedest to hide it.

“So, ██████, how are things back in Derry? Anything exciting happening lately?”

Ah, yes, and this is how it always started. A fairly innocuous question that would surely give way to more in depth lines of inquiry. 

“Oh, not much.” She says through a mouthful of potatoes. She did always love the food her parents made. Nothing beat hot champ with a nice, big dollop of butter in the middle. Mix in peas and it was the ultimate comfort food. “I guess you could say work is getting easier.”

“That’s good to hear.” Her stepfather says. “Paying bills on time, keeping all your ducks in a row?”

“Yeah, pops, think things are running pretty smooth so far. I’m starting to really like living on my own.” She lies. No need to let her parents know how much she was struggling lately. She knew they would swoop into protective mode, and she didn’t want that. She didn’t want help. Didn’t need it, no sir.

“Good. We were pretty worried at first, having you stay there on your own. If you ever need help, you know, you can always come to us. We’re your safety net, remember?”

“Yeah I know.” She says, blushing. “I’m fine, though. Ever since I started working the library, I haven’t been super worried about money. I’m even keeping a little at the end of each paycheck.”

“Putting it in savings? That’s important, you know.”

“Yeah yeah, I know.”

Her mom leans forward on her elbows. “Have you been making any new friends? You’re still hanging out with those kids, right?”

“Bill, Rich, Stan and Eds? Yeah. Besides them I kind of keep to myself, though. You know I was always that kind of kid.”

“True.” Her brother says. “Not much for crowds.”

And then, the burning question. She knew it was coming, and she resented it every time it came up. Didn’t know who would ask it though.

“Found a boyfriend yet?”

Cool, there it was, courtesy of her mother. 

“Mom!” she says, her face flaring up with heat again.

“Sorry, I just worry about you sometimes. I think you should have someone to take care of you, you know, something like dad and I have. All we’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy.”

Angel chuckles nervously. “Yeah, uh, I know.” She pushes her plate away. “Sorry to cut this short, but can I go? I hate to ditch early, but I’m feeling pretty exhausted and I think I should sleep.”

“Sure, honey, whatever you need.”

Angel had been vastly displeased with this line of questioning. She knew it was coming, but she hated it all the same. Just what was she supposed to say to something like that? It was such an awkward question to pose, and one she’d heard throughout her teen years much to her utter dismay. She wasn’t popular in that regard, she wasn’t popular at all to begin with, and she fwished her parents would understand that rather than egg her on in something that was ultimately hopeless. As she lays in bed in the guest room she stares up at the ceiling, stewing in unpleasant thought. All that loneliness, the self-hatred, the feelings of inadequacy come bubbling up to the surface again and she tries so hard to forget it. She finds herself thinking of Pennywise now and she clings to the change in topic desperately. Her mind starts to swim with little fantasies of him, letting herself entertain the thought of… Dating him. She wonders what he might look like underneath all the makeup. He seemed attractive enough in costume, but what was underneath might be even better. Even so, she starts to blush at the thought of holding his gloved hand, him parading her on his arm, making her laugh… Kissing her with those full red lips... She turns onto her side and starts to hug her pillow, burying her face in the cool, plush security of the cotton-covered stuffing. She wished she could have one of those dreams again, she missed them so terribly. She truly had no idea why they had stopped when she’d been having them so regularly, it was an anomaly just as puzzling as the existence of her guardian angel. Just as puzzling as the night she’d heard that voice behind her on the couch, the night that Patrick disappeared; puzzling as the pattern of disappearances in general, and puzzling as the monster that lurked in the shadows. She had no idea what to make of it, of any of it. All she knew was that she had no business questioning it.

That night she had no dream, and she’d woken up patently dissatisfied but not surprised in the least. Christmas passed without incident; she and her family played games, had another dinner, opened a few presents, and then Angel made her departure towards home once more. She plays with the pearl heart around her neck as she vacantly stares out the window of the cab, and though she’s relieved to be done with all the social pressures of the holiday she also feels a pang of sadness, knowing that once she gets back home it’ll just be more of the same. As she pulls up to her house she pays her fare and thanks the cab driver, and then she collects her bags, unlocks her front door, and heads back inside. It’s late, the room is dark, and when she turns on the light she finds Mayor Jello asleep on the arm of the couch. She smiles. She’s about to go to her room to start unpacking but once she lets her eyes fall to the floor she notices something sitting underneath her Christmas tree. Another gift? She drops her bags and wastes no time; she crouches near the tree and picks it up, turning it over, inspecting the beautiful gold and red wrapping paper with joy. The tag says, “To Angel, from your angel.” Her heart thunders in her chest.

She tears open the wrapping paper. There, hidden within, is a long sleeved blouse, almost like a sweater, black in color and so soft to the touch that she can’t help herself from rubbing her face against it. It feels like some sort of silk and, excited, she strips right there in the living room to try it on. She feels that familiar feeling as she slips it on over her chest, and the cool silk is heaven on her skin. She notes with wonder at the perfect fit; it’s almost as though it was tailor-made, just for her, and when she takes it back off she hugs it to her heart tight. This was such a welcome gesture after an utterly taxing weekend, she can’t stop herself from being absolutely delighted with it. After such an embarrassing Christmas Eve dinner, being poked and prodded with questions, with…  _ That _ question, with all the feelings of loneliness that had come welling up, she felt special all over again. For just a moment, there in the living room, her problems didn’t exist. It was nice.

The disappointing pattern of having no dreams continued into New Years, another holiday which Angel would spend alone. To be fair, she hadn’t stopped having dreams in general, she just hadn’t been having dreams of him. They were dreams she would forget almost immediately after she woke up, though she didn’t necessarily care given that they weren’t what she was holding out for. New Years Eve was quiet, and Angel had already slept through about half of it. Radio silence from the Losers, but she expected that- she assumed they were all beholden to their families for this holiday. Once she’d gotten up, she made herself something to eat and sank into the couch, turning on the TV. Truthfully, she’d all but forgotten that today was New Years Eve, and had only remembered once the programs on the screen reminded her, all debuting special broadcasts for the occasion. Everything she could find that would normally be entertaining was all re-runs she’d seen just about a thousand times before, and she finds herself dissatisfied with the lack of quality entertainment, so she finds herself dozing off on the couch once more. Sleep is simply a blank canvas for the duration of her nap, and she doesn’t wake up until she’s jolted awake by Mayor Jello, who has chosen to put all his weight onto a single paw when he steps onto her chest.

“Ow ow  _ owwww. _ Get off me you asshole.” She gently pushes him down, and he meows indignantly before slinking around the back of the couch to find somewhere else to lay down. She looks up at the TV again. Nothing good, as per usual. Glancing at the clock, she notices it’s already almost midnight. To tell the truth, Angel never cared much for this holiday; it was always something of a disappointment (just like most things, she thinks pessimistically). She gets up off the couch and meanders lazily into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, she plucks out a bottle of champagne and studies it for a moment. Popping it open, she takes a big, hearty swig, and wipes her lips with the crook of her arm before making her way back over to the couch. Didn’t matter if she waited until midnight; it’s not like there was anybody here anyway. She flips through the TV channels again, pausing momentarily on one program or another to pass the time but never lingering too long on any one show. She gets more than pleasantly tipsy as time goes on, and in the span of half an hour she’s polished off the entire bottle. Getting up to throw it out, she’s clumsy on her feet, her mind is swimming and she can feel the warmth settling over her. When she drops onto the couch again it’s close to 11:30 and she starts to flit through the channels again. Nothing, nothing, nothing… Another re-run, another re-run, nothing… News broadcast, an odd recording of a baseball game… Pausing, she makes her way back to Channel 27. She hadn’t found anything earlier in the day but, who knows, maybe it was worth a shot to take another look. She flips back through another assortment of bland choices, and when she finally lands on it her heart stops. There it is.

Another installment of the Derry Children’s Hour, but the backdrop is slightly altered. There’s balloons everywhere accompanied by lit paper lanterns, and hanging over the top of the screen is a banner that reads  _ “Happy New Year!”  _ It looked to be a special New Years episode, and based on the way they were talking it seemed as though it were a re-run of some kind, although she wasn’t sure how she had missed it earlier. Maybe it had played while she was sleeping. She watches eagerly, having missed this strange ritual of hers, and finds herself soothed as always by the voice of the hostess and the friendly way she engages with the children. She’s drunk now and finding it all the more difficult to concentrate, but her mind is dead set on one missing detail. She wanted to see Pennywise.

He wasn’t present, not yet at least, and she finds herself disappointed but tries to be optimistic in her inebriated haze. He might show up- after all, what was a New Years celebration without a clown to liven things up, right? The hostess carries on about your standard New Years topics; about the New Year being a fresh start, about setting goals for the New Year… She asks the children what goals they might have and they give an assortment of answers. One says he’s going to do his chores more, another admits she wants to do better in school, one even said he wanted to try to be nicer to his sister. This continues until she naturally segues into a new topic, one that creates a pit in Angel’s stomach.

“And that brings us to our last topic, kids, the New Years kiss!”

Oh, she hated that. Growing up unpopular in…  _ That  _ regard, Angel had never had the pleasure of experiencing that magical New Years kiss. She’d heard people at school brag about getting ones from their significant others, but she had never been so lucky, not that anyone would care to hear about it anyway if she was. Even in her intoxicated state she cannot help the dismay settling over her now, growing increasingly more upset as she watches the hostess prattle on, going on about how the New Years kiss is supposed to bring good fortune in love for the following year and how you should only do it with someone special. She turns off the TV. She shouldn’t be feeling this way, it was so stupid. It didn’t matter. Still, she’s grown dolorous and sad, and all she can think to do now is go to sleep; leave this day, this awful year behind her. She didn’t even get to see Pennywise, who she knew would’ve made her feel better about the whole thing, at least for a little while. She sits up and drunkenly ambles down the hall to her bedroom, where she strips and crawls into bed. She thinks of him until she falls asleep.

The dreamscape begins in the black as always, and then she dreams for a time about nothing that interesting. She dreams that she and the Losers are working in a call center together, then dreams that Mayor Jello suddenly gained the ability to speak and was now criticizing her fashion choices; she has a brief intermission of a dream in which everything about her was the same except for the fact that she inexplicably had no tongue, and then its the black again. It's nothing but black and emptiness, her mind nothing but a void, and then suddenly it's something else, something new. She wakes up in bed, same as always, but she feels… Empty. She slips out of bed, she dresses for work, she feels empty. She walks to work, she doesn’t find any gifts, she feels empty. She works her shift, she helps patrons out with their book selections, she feels empty. It's nothing but an empty, sinking feeling, plaguing her consciousness, and nothing will alleviate it. She finishes her shift, she clocks out, and it’s more of the same. Until. 

She steps out the door, and a gust of that familiar wind sweeps through her. It’s a warmth, it’s something wonderful, and it’s calling to her. All she can do is follow that feeling, follow its pushing guidance behind her, and she finally comes upon a place she hadn’t seen before, a place on the outskirts of town. The street sign reads Neibolt Street. She finds herself drawn to the only sight to see, an old, battered house on the brink of ruin, standing there in a lawn of ugly, yellow weeds, guarded by a rusty, broken fence. It’s just after sunset now, though she hadn’t any idea how the time had passed so quickly between now and the end of her shift. The smell of the peeling wallpaper is old when she steps past the front door, there’s creaking in the floorboards beneath her boot heels. She ducks under cobwebs until she reaches the end of the room, and there’s a staircase there, just beckoning her upwards into the upper half of the house. The stairs moan underneath her feet as she trudges up the steps, and now she can hear delicate, paper-thin whispers guiding her towards the center room. They seem to know that she’s sad, they console her; they comfort her as she continues on, encouraging her with each step she takes. There’s windows peeking out into the field of sunflowers across the way, and she’s mesmerized by them as she looks out the glass in wonder. Then, behind her, the door closes. She turns, and her heart leaps into her throat. It’s him.

He steps toward her with a charming bow. He towers over her, but she doesn’t feel small. She feels safe.

“...You waited for me, my pet.”

Her stomach flutters, and she’s shy, but she speaks.

“Yeah, I… I waited so long. I was...Worried I might not see you again. I was worried you were gone.”

His eyes are blue but they glint with something warm. He laughs and she blushes.

“Oh darling, don’t worry. So long as you keep me in your pretty little head, I won’t ever go away. Ever.” He beams at her, and holds out his hand. “ _ Promise promise. _ ” His voice is in her mind, a welcome intruder that makes her shiver.

**_Come to me, darling. Come to Pennywise._ **

She’s numb but her body is buzzing all the same. She has to resist the urge to run to him, has to force herself to keep cool but her mind is screaming with desire. She walks toward him, extending her own hand, experiencing that all-too-crucial moment of lucidity where she’s afraid the dream might end this way as it had so many times before. He’s there, he doesn’t move, and as the distance between them increasingly closes she can see his eyes fade from blue into gold. And when their hands finally touch, it’s… Indescribable. She can feel her body, her stomach bloom with something beautiful and her heart is racing when he pulls her close. She looks up into his eyes. His stare is intense but it doesn’t scare her. Rather, it simply makes her want more.

“You won’t be alone forever, my darling.” He whispers. “This won’t last forever, I’ll make sure of it.”

He sweeps her into a dip and she squeaks at the sudden movement, at the adrenaline rushing through her veins. There in each other's arms there’s a moment of unspeakable tension between them, a beat of eternal silence, and then when she’s certain this will all turn into a nightmare of some kind, he leans in close. She can practically taste his warm breath as he draws near, the cloying scent of cotton candy mixed with popcorn washing over her drunken senses when he comes in for the kiss. The moment their lips touch is divine and she's all but stopped breathing; she wants it to last forever, but then-

She jolts awake. She remembers everything, and she looks at her alarm clock. It’s a new year. 


	12. New Year

It’s 1989, and Angel is reeling. All she can hear is the sound of her thundering heart. It eclipses the chirruping song of sparrows on a crisp winter’s morning, the blood pulsating restlessly in her torrid veins as she sits motionlessly in bed. She stares down at the blanket splayed out over her lap and presses cold hands to her burning cheeks. She remembers, she processes, she relives the dream she just had and she cannot stop herself from squeaking kittenishly into her palms at the thought of it all. Her face is growing hotter with each vivid detail that she recalls and her stomach starts to flutter so deliciously with want and desire. She’d dreamt about him again… She truly couldn’t believe it. All she can think of is his hands, his eyes… His _ lips, _ pressed against hers… She buries her face in her blanket and starts to giggle.

New Years of 1989 had started out a very good day. Once Angel had woken up and slipped out of bed, the world truly seemed a better place, at least for the time being. She greets Mayor Jello with uncharacteristic cheer and good spirit, and sets to making breakfast on a lazy Sunday morning. It’s French toast with bacon, and she scarfs it down happily, still entertaining thoughts from her dream the night before as she hums along to a record playing on her turntable (It was a Sgt. Peppers kind of day). She cleans her plate right away and sets it to dry, and then she gets dressed. She slips on the silk sweater with a pair of baggy black cargo pants, then laces up her boots and slides a long, thick trenchcoat over her shoulders. When she dons her favorite pearl heart she smiles at herself in the mirror. She studies her reflection for a moment, letting her eyes flicker over all the details and imperfections of her face; the bumps and acne on her olive skin, the perpetual bags under her eyes, her cute little button nose, the fullness in her lips… And then her eyes trail downward, all the way to her stomach, and her smile sours. She squeezes the fat underneath and grimaces, staring in dismay at the way her figure protrudes outward, her belly surely more pronounced than it was before as a result of all her recent indulgence. And before she knows it she’s fixated on it, it’s been so long that she’s just been standing there staring at her own reflection, and she forces herself to leave when she can almost feel bitter tears building.

She steps outside and takes a deep breath. Think about different things, forget about all that. She needed to. She opens her eyes and steps down from her stoop. Fresh snow crunches underneath her heels and she shivers as the chill from outside seeps into her bones, rubbing her gloved hands together as she walks down her driveway onto the sidewalk. She takes her stride at a slow and even pace, savoring the journey from Witcham Street onto Up-Mile-Hill. She passes all the houses in her neighborhood in silent contemplation, noting how each one was distinct in their own way when she walks past. Derry certainly was a town that, by all accounts, didn’t appear much different from any other. It seemed so innocent and unassuming, and anyone just passing through wouldn’t be able to tell that there was a monster in the closet from first glance unless they did some digging around. They’d simply just assume that it was another sleepy little Maine town closed off from the outside world, a one-horse burg with a rustic charm and modest flair. Growing up in such a place was strange, and Angel certainly had to wonder why she chose to stay behind while the rest of her family moved on. She couldn’t really explain it, but when the time had come, she simply felt like she needed to stay. Felt like she belonged there somehow. Call it destiny, perhaps.

And it would seem that destiny was in fact calling to her in a sense, as she truly had no other inkling as to why she’d been chosen as the supposed fixation of a higher power. Ever since it had begun, Angel had resolved not to question the whole thing so much, as stranger things had certainly happened and, she had to grant, it was certainly better to be on the side of good fortune rather than bad in this town. Still, some part of her had to wonder just what the nature was of this thing, and why it had chosen her specifically to dote on. She had to wonder of its intentions, and what role it played in regards to whatever had been causing the disappearances, if it played any role at all. Could they be perhaps one and the same? No, that couldn’t be. She refuses to believe that something so kind and thoughtful to her could be responsible for something so heinous. She allows herself a little smile at the thought of them, perhaps looking on her from above as she continues along. She’d brought a gift along with her on the offchance that she might find something from them, an old friendship bracelet she’d made that said “Neo-Maxi-Zoom-Dweebie.” It was an old memento from years past, and given that she didn’t particularly have a use for it anymore she didn’t necessarily mind parting with it. She hoped that they liked the things she was leaving for them. It wasn’t as though she was an old hand with this, she was simply going with the flow as it were. Simply just trying to return the favor, and repay back all the kindness that they saw fit to bestow on her for whatever godforsaken reason. It was the least she could do.

Pennywise was simply delighted with all her gifts. He hadn’t expected her to respond so favorably to his offerings at all, let alone so much so that she felt the desire and compulsion to leave things for him in return. He smiles. She truly  _ was _ meant for him; it was all playing out just as he’d hoped, and all because of their inevitable compatibility, the stars aligning simply to bring the two of them together. They belonged together. She belonged with  _ him.  _ Only a girl such as her, so peculiar and odd and fascinated with the offbeat and the bizarre could match him so well. Only a girl so sweet and loving and longing for friendship and affection could be such putty in his wicked hands, a perfect compliment to his sinister nature giving herself in to his manipulations so easily and willingly, though she didn’t yet know it. Only a girl who would not only accept his advances, but respond to them in kind, would become his so effortlessly. Oh, how he couldn’t wait. He counted the days in restless anticipation, longing for that fateful moment where he could take her in his arms and give her all the love he had been saving just for her. It wasn’t long now.

She was rather enjoying her walk so far, getting lost in the way all the white blends seamlessly together, in the way icicles reached down from the gutters of the houses and the roads were slick with grimy mush from the neverending commute of passing cars. The Christmas decorations were still displayed outside in people’s yards, as people hadn’t yet an opportunity to take anything down, and she admires all of it in its collective splendor, enjoying it in the moment as much as she possibly can. Golden lights on the outside of one particular house strike a familiar chord inside of her as she walks past and she finds herself thinking of Pennywise now, her mind wandering back to the dream she’d had the night before. Her cheeks are rosy, numb from the cold, but they start to warm when she thinks of the way he’d looked at her, the way those eyes had turned from a swimming ocean of blue into fulgid, blinding gold when she’d come closer to him. It reminds her of something else, memories of the stars in the sky when she’d almost gotten trampled at that concert, the deja vu of having experienced near the same thing some months later when she’d passed out on Halloween, of the shadowy figure that had loomed above her on both occasions. The phenomenon of it was a tad peculiar, and as she’s lost in thought she finds herself coming to a sudden realization, that being that there was a possibility it could have been her guardian angel protecting her on those strange and peculiar occasions. Yes, that… That could be it, it seemed one of the only plausible explanations, even if it sounded mad. Hell, this whole thing sounded mad. If anyone had told Angel even half a year before that she would become the object of some mysterious benefactor’s inexplicable attentions, that she would continually cheat death and fatal injury as a result, she would have laughed right in their face. But now, it all didn’t seem so crazy. 

She kept seeing those lights, so close yet so far, like beacons calling to her from lightyears away, and she thinks… They weren’t much different from Pennywise’s eyes in her dreams. It was almost like she was starting to conflate the two, starting to merge the two things in her life that were bringing her the most consistent comfort from her woes. It wasn’t so odd, it seemed to make an inkling of sense. In a way, it could be argued that her guardian angel was trying to court her in some fashion, as they seemed to be paying close attention to gifts she liked more than others and offering her solace in times of hardship, and Angel very much liked the idea of that attention coming from the same thing she herself had begun developing feelings for. She knew it wasn’t really possible. Pennywise was just a character in a children’s show after all; there was almost zero chance he was little more than a man in a costume. Still, she couldn’t deny the allure of it all, the thought of him looking over her, out for her, leaving her little trinkets and trifles for her delight, simply trying to win her favor. It was an idea too delicious not to entertain.

She comes upon the awning outside Secondhand Rose and, on a whim, decides to step inside. Angel had always adored thrift stores and antique shops; of course, this one didn’t rotate stock very often, but when it did things were often interesting to look at at the very least. She hadn’t stopped in for a while- couldn’t hurt to check, right? Lord knows she had nothing better to do on New Years, everyone being busy with their families and whatnot. Though, if she were honest, she’s surprised to find it open in the first place. The door jingles when she steps through the threshold, and she’s greeted by the shopkeeper and the musty, old smell of the wares waiting inside. There’s immediately a lot to take in. Items of all different shapes and sizes are visible from the ceiling to the floor, and things are not arranged very neatly. There are several rows of items simply stacked on top of each other, and various signs and license plates decorate the walls of the space. She scans her eyes over the various shelves of knick knacks and curios, and finds herself getting lost in all the colors and patterns within. There are lamps and wicker chairs, there’s empty tea kettles and old dartboards. There’s chipped sculptures and ghoulish taxidermied animals, several rows of dusty old books; there’s clocks and regal mirrors of different shapes and sizes and old, dented lunchboxes. There’s what looks to be a persian rug on the floor, a Royal typewriter in relatively decent condition, several guitars hung all over the front wall and a great big painting of a turtle propped up against the counter, striking somehow amid everything else. Angel finds her eyes lingering upon it in wonder as she steps past it to peruse the shelves.

“You lookin’ fer anything in particular?” The shopkeeper asks from behind her. She glances over her shoulder.

“N-no, I’m just… Just looking.” She says with a nervous laugh.

“Okay then, take yer time. Ring the bell if you need anything.” He says, heading into the back. 

She nods. There’s an even more prominent stillness in the room now and she can hear the clocks all ticking in tandem as she moves through the store. Everything was so old, and clearly had a past behind it; she finds it so fascinating, looking upon each little thing and wondering what it’s story might have been, how it might have ended up here in the first place. She finds herself so comforted by the smell and atmosphere of it all that she thinks she could just stay in here forever, surrounded by a quirkier side of Derry’s eclectic history. She smiles as she examines a basket of donated childrens’ toys sitting in a Radio Flyer wagon. Among them is a couple vintage Barbie dolls, original 1959 and 1962 models, a timeworn teddy bear with one missing eye, a Mr. Potatohead, a pile of building blocks and… A little clown doll. When her eyes fall on it she stops dead in her tracks, and she feels that familiar tingling warmth when she stoops down to pick it up from the basket. She turns it over in her hands and finds something of a grin creeping across her face. It’s a charming little knit doll, red and white in color, with red yarn hair, googly eyes, and a felt nose and lips. It wears a baggy striped suit with red poms down the front of its midsection, and there’s a cute little ribbon tied about its neck. She can tell that it’s homemade just from the look and feel. The more she looks at it the more she falls in love, and she notices the tag sticking out of its foot. Only five dollars! Well, she could certainly manage that. She takes it over to the front counter and rings the bell, but not before leaving the friendship bracelet behind in its place.

The shopkeeper comes shuffling out of the back again and takes a seat where he was before. She gently pushes the doll across the counter along with a five dollar bill.

“Just this, please.”

“Ahh…” The shopkeeper says, opening the till and depositing the money inside. “This strike your fancy? Was donated just last month, toys from one of the local girls that went missing, uhh…Jenny Baxter, I think her name was. Was all over the papers.”

“Is that so?” Angel says awkwardly, trying her best to keep the conversation. It was… Unsettling to say the least, knowing that’s where the toy came from, but she tried not to think about it too hard. There were probably a number of things in here that had ties to the disappearances.

“Yeah, folks seemed glad to be rid of the stuff.” The shopkeeper says, printing up a receipt. He’s just about to hand it to her, but when he looks up he jerks it away before she can grab it.

“Your necklace.”

“My- huh?”

His eyes are beady, squinting at it. “That thing around your neck. Where’d you get that?”

“O-Oh. Well, I-”

“I had a nice vintage blouse worth a great deal sitting on a hanger in this shop not a few months before, had buttons on it just like that. Where’d you get it?”

“I found it.”

He leans back in his chair with a condescending chuckle. “Oh, you  _ found _ it, huh?”

“Yes, I  _ did!” _ she insists. “I found it by a sewer grate on Jackson Street and Witcham. Scout’s honor!”

“Oh, so the buttons just  _ happened _ to go missing on my shirt, making it virtually worthless, and then you just  _ happened _ to find the buttons outside some sewer grate?”

“That’s what I’m telling you, I swear.” She asserts. “What reason would I have to steal buttons off a shirt of all things?”

“I’m not entirely sure, you’d have to tell me.” He says curtly. “Either way, no sale.”

“I-  _ w-what?” _

“Get out of my store.”

“Hey, man, I already paid-”

“And I had to scrap a shirt that was worth almost $100.” He snapped. “Get out of my store before I call the cops. And leave the goddamn doll behind.”

Angel ruminates on it in anger as she sits in a greasy diner not far down the street, trying her best not to cry in public as she sips on her coffee. She’d wanted that doll. She almost felt like she needed it, like something in her blood and in her mind was telling her that it belonged to her. She was almost certain that it was meant for her to find, like it was a long-lost piece of her she hadn’t even known was missing until she saw it. She’d felt that feeling, that energy… It was as though her guardian angel was speaking through her, telling her to take it, and she’d failed. In that moment she feels like she’s somehow spurned the gift of her protector even if it wasn't her fault, and she feels terrible knowing that someone else will likely come along and take it instead. It now leads her to wonder about her little collection of gifts, and just how many of them might have been pilfered from dubious sources like that, like her pearl heart pendant. Was she just walking around in a bunch of stolen jewelry? Her heart sinks at the realization. She’d truly thought that what she was taking was lost, unwanted things that no one would miss, that she was hurting no one by taking these things. The waitress comes by with her food and she hardly touches it.

She ends up toting her food home in a takeaway box, having found herself too upset to eat after stewing in her thoughts now. It's all she can think about that night in bed too, driving herself crazy trying to rationalize and justify everything she'd been finding now that her collection's origins have been called into question. Finally, she arrives at a conclusion she can cope with, that someone else must have ripped the buttons from the shirt and her guardian angel simply found them to offer as a gift. They almost seemed like a bird in that sense, attracted to shiny, pretty things, scooping them up for a collection and graciously offering them to her, a kindred spirit. She sighs, staring at her alarm clock in silent thought. Yes… That seemed to ease her conscience quite a bit. There was no way her guardian angel could be so careless, right? They were a good thing, a moral thing, and they surely wouldn't steal things from people just for her, would they?

Even if they had, just how bad was that, really? Most of what she was finding were inconsequential things, things no one in their right mind would possibly miss, like marbles and paperclips and bits of crumpled up tinfoil. It was… Unfortunate that some people were losing things they might possibly miss, but people lose things all the time. She's lost her fair share of things over the years, things she's sure people have found and made off with. And she can deal with that, she certainly wouldn't begrudge someone for keeping something they rightly found. Where would someone even go to return it if they'd felt so inclined anyway? She finds herself feeling slightly better with this rationalization, and settles back into her pillows with much greater ease. So what if her guardian angel was taking a couple things for her here and there? What was a little selfishness on her part in such a heinous little town, accepting pilfered trifles? She could certainly be guilty of much worse crimes. The more she thinks about it now, the less guilty she feels, and with her mind assuaged she's finally able to fall asleep.

**~~~~**

Back to work today. Angel groans as she rolls out of bed and quickly sets to getting dressed for the morning. Following a few minutes of indecisively rifling through her drawers, she finally decides on a baggy gray sweater with black jeans and Mary Jane heels. After a moment of deliberation (and silent defiance to the shopkeeper of Secondhand Rose), she reaches into her chocolate box and puts on her pearl heart with the matching pair of earrings. She regards her reflection for a moment in the mirror, studying herself from the front and the side, analyzing her figure as she had obsessively grown to do in her adolescence and then she glances at her bedside clock. Only had so much time to get ready. With that she strides out into the living room to feed Mayor Jello and make her departure.

"How are you doing this morning, Mr. Mayor? Sleep well?" She says tiredly, pulling out his bag of food. She dumps a hefty pile in his bowl and puts it back in the cupboard. He doesn't answer her.

She sets a few heaping scoops of grounds into a filter and sets the coffee maker to work. As she enjoys the rich and sumptuous scent of the beans wafting through the cold air of the house she walks around the kitchen over to the living room, where she sits down with a groan and picks up the TV remote. Turning it on, she flips from the static of Channel 27 (no Derry Children’s Hour this morning, she notes disappointingly) through the catalog of available channels. Nothing much on this morning either save for the news, it seems. She leaves it on the Derry Local News and goes to check on her coffee. The machine has started to deposit the brew into the pot slowly but steadily, and when it’s done she pours herself a cup in her favorite mug before stirring in milk and a copious amount of sugar cubes. She takes a nice, long sip and sighs as the warmth slowly travels from her throat into the rest of her body. The TV speaks loudly into the emptiness, making the room echo with its matter-of-fact delivery.

“Grim news for Derry today as it seems another citizen has turned up missing, this time a Caucasian man of 62 by the name of Charles O’Brien.”

She stops in the midst of dropping another sugar cube into her cup. She tries to take a sip but has to stop herself gagging on her coffee, staring wordlessly at the television screen as it displays a picture of the lost man.

“Charles O’Brien was the primary owner and proprietor of a local antique shop, Secondhand Rose, Secondhand Clothes. It’s reported that he went missing at approximately 1 PM yesterday during the celebration of New Years, and his whereabouts are as of now unknown. Just terrible- John?”

“Yes, it certainly is Nancy. Anyone who may have a clue as to where he might be is encouraged to contact the local Derry police as soon as possible, until then we have all authorities on hand investigating the matter thoroughly. And that’s--”

She turns off the TV before it can cut to commercial, and stands dumbfounded at the kitchen counter in disbelief. She has to force herself to sit down, and when she does she starts to shake, contemplating all of which she’s just heard. The coincidence of his disappearance coupled with her encounter with him yesterday is simply… Too much to process, and she finds herself staring down at her heart pendant. She doesn’t know how she feels; she feels numb, almost paralyzed. She doesn’t know what to do or think, she simply sits in silence. Mayor Jello is gone from the room after having eaten. She spares a glance out of the corner of her eyes at the clock overhead, and realizes it's almost time to leave for work. Can’t afford to dwell on this much longer. She gets up and straightens her back, grabs her purse and her lunchbox, and steps out the door. She tries to forget it.

Turns out forgetting it was not as easy as she’d hoped. Angel had had a bit of an off day at work, stumbling around clumsily in her heels, staring vacantly at the shelves as she took the front desk, putting books back in the wrong places. She’d taken her lunch later than normal for lack of appetite but that proved to be a fool’s errand, as when she did she still sat on the monument outside and did little else but keep her gaze rooted to the pine tree across the way. She’d brought her sketchbook with her but couldn’t for the life of her manage to draw anything. Well, it wasn't as though she'd been able to draw much in the last several months anyway. The librarian hadn’t truly stopped being cross with her ever since that book went missing, and today she hadn't been more merciful for the sake of Angel's weak constitution. She still expected she fulfill all her daily responsibilities and Angel could do little else but just that, as she couldn’t afford to invoke any more of the librarian’s laser-guided ire than she already had. She’d been on thin ice the last couple months ever since she couldn’t track down that book and decided she couldn’t afford to call out on this particular occasion, traumatized though she felt. No, couldn’t risk losing her job. It’s not like there was a lot else in Derry that she could do to earn a living. She wasn’t exactly qualified for much, and the things she  _ was _ qualified for were well above her threshold of discomfort.

Angel spends her second fifteen entirely in the bathroom in the hopes of finding seclusion from everyone and everything else. She needed time alone, because as of now she clearly wasn’t coping very well with the day’s early discovery, and now more than anything she simply didn’t want to be seen. She can’t stop thinking about the shopkeeper from Secondhand Rose. She has to wonder if the circumstances of his disappearance were coincidental, some freak occurrence, some strange mishap or, rather, something else entirely. She wished she knew more about the context of his disappearance, but if his disappearance was anything like Patrick’s she was betting dollars to donuts that the man was almost certainly attacked by the same thing he was. The same esoteric monster that seemed to plague Derry like an eternal pestilence, and now she thinks… What if the monster was after  _ her? _ What if that was the reason people around her kept dropping like flies? She thinks of her guardian angel, and the way their presence seemed to challenge or defy that of the monster. Was she being fought over? Was there some strange cosmic game of tug of war happening, with her somehow the prize? Oh god… What if… What if the monster eventually got to the kids…? Her head sinks into her hands and she starts to sob at the thought.

She hadn’t slept very well that night. Well, not at all if she was really honest. She just lay there in bed, staring up at the shadows on the ceiling, counting the minutes as they tick by and trying to distract herself from nasty wayward thoughts. The next day, however, was a little easier. And the day after that, and the day after that. By the time a couple weeks had passed, Angel had forced herself to forget about it as much as she was able, becoming consumed in the rhythm of her daily routine once more and the momentary security of little disappearances to fret over. The distraction of the gift-giving game between her and her guardian angel kept most of her attention, and the rest was allocated to her growing fixation on Pennywise, who now more than ever was becoming quite important to her. With everything that had been going on lately and her increasingly more prominent issues with self worth, Angel found herself steering more and more into her crush and the delusions of being in something of a relationship with him. She hadn’t been having those dreams anymore, so Angel had started to cope by imagining him in bed with her every night instead. Every time she nestled under the covers she would turn onto her side and hug tight a pile of pillows very strategically placed so as to mimic his form, starting to drift idly in thoughts of them together, thoughts of them holding each other under the covers, so close their noses are almost touching. Thoughts of him whispering sweet things to her with that deliciously gentle voice, lulling her into such a sense of genuine security that all she can do is melt under his words. Thoughts of him shushing her when he makes her snort laugh in the cold, quiet night, finally leaning in close to kiss her when she can’t stop giggling and quieting her with a soft, sensuous kiss. Thoughts of that kiss turning into one more, and one more, until he rolls her onto her back and stoops to lick and nip at her neck, the way he would gently reach down between her thighs to peel her panties from her legs and cast them to the side. Thoughts of them, being  _ intimate _ with one another… She would think of it all until she fell asleep and left each day behind her. And then she would continue on into the next, only to repeat the whole cycle all over again.

It had continued that way for quite some time into the New Year. Angel was pleased to find that the Derry Children’s Hour was starting to feature Pennywise more and more, and as a result she was growing far more distracted as time wore on, just trying to keep herself from thinking too hard about everything that was wrong. She began to neglect herself more and more, was letting her house and her room more specifically grow cluttered and unkempt as her haze-like funk continued. She would stare starry-eyed at the screen, hardly breathing as she watched his every movement; she would swoon and sigh and giggle like a schoolgirl at his on-screen antics, and then when it was over she would waste away the hours either lounging about the house and fantasizing about him or cuddling with her pillow pile until she dozed off. Errands were getting forgotten and she would settle for whatever was collecting dust in her pantry when she needed to eat, usually blue-box mac and cheese or Hamburger Helper or something equally low-effort. She only ever left the house to go scavenger hunting for gifts; on a more productive day she would go grocery shopping, but only ever came home with more junk food or superfluous impulse buys. And though she had gotten used to not having the dreams anymore she still held out for them regardless, had never stopped trying to have them in a sense. As she laid with her pillows and thought of him she hoped she would see him there as she had before, but when it didn’t happen she tried not to let herself be disappointed.

Angel was not without moments of clarity, however. Though her depressive state rendered her unable to take care of herself much of the time, there were in fact days where she knew she needed to work on getting things back to the way they were before, lest the Losers come back into her life and see just how much she’d let herself go in their absence. It was on a day like this that she attempted to undertake the somewhat daunting task of cleaning her house, or at the very least, decluttering her room. Angel was the type to get stressed out by a copious amount of mess, and although she was too far gone to care on most days, it still ate away at her regardless of her notice. It had reached a breaking point when she couldn’t even see the floor in her room, covered in clothes and other errant objects, and she’d almost eaten shit when her foot got caught on a shirt. So she rolled up her sleeves one Saturday afternoon, put on an Oingo Boingo album ( _ Good For Your Soul, _ her favorite) and got to work.

_ Have you ever felt that somehow _

_ You were not yourself? _

_ That your body was the same _

_ But everything around you wasn’t right _

_ And images so strange and foreign _

_ Flooded in like raging water~ _

So far so good. She’d started with the garbage first, and so far had filled up two full bags, another byproduct of her recent distraction. Then, once she was done with that she got to work on the floors, first collecting all the clothes and laying them in a pile on her bed. Then she started to pick up everything else that was a potential hazard, setting them down in better places or binning them for storage in the closet. She figured she could kill two birds with one stone and do a big load of laundry today once she was done. It was certainly well overdue, and she could stand to catch up a little. The floor isn’t perfectly spotless but it’s certainly adequate, and she starts to clear off her bedside table and her dresser now. She tosses old candles and water bottles, rearranges the books on her shelf, throws out old papers and mementos that are taking up space inside her drawers. She needed to reorganize her clown collection too, and she knew they surely needed dusting. She pulls open her closet door.

_ Have you ever been in love _

_ With someone you hardly knew? _

_ Whereas every time you closed your eyes _

_ You saw this person come alive _

_ It kept you wide awake at night _

_ You felt like you were burning up _

_ It made you want to scream _

_ Then you passed out in a dream _

_ Just once or twice _

_ Is good for your soul... _

Her eyes fall on her shelf and all the little figurines waiting inside for her scrutiny. They gaze back, staring at her silently and she reciprocates their wordless gesture. There’s little more than two dozen of them, statues in colorful attire with painted faces, and there’s a row of bean-stuffed dolls among them, all with similar porcelain faces. Angel had collected all of these from thrift stores over the years, figuring they were from elderly peoples’ collections, unwanted now for whatever reason or donated as a result of their passing. Either way, she was delighted to give them a new home whenever she found them, and the best part of it was how inexpensive they tended to be. She takes the tallest figures and lines them up in the back, and then arranges two more rows of the medium-sized ones followed by the small. Finally, she places the porcelain dolls in front, two on either side of the rows. She steps back to admire her handiwork, finding the activity to have been almost therapeutic in a sense. All of a sudden, she gets that warm rush working its way through her flesh and she smiles. She knows the signs, she wonders what they might have left for her this time. It had been a couple days since the last one. Hopeful with anticipation she turns around to face her bed again, but she jumps ten feet in the air with a yelp.

_ Ever laid half asleep _

_ All hours of the night _

_ With some nagging demon _

_ Tugging at that tiny bell inside your mind? _

_ And suddenly that strange idea _

_ Bursts into an inspiration _

_ You grab for it and then _

_ The whole things slips right through your fingers _

_ Just once or twice _

_ Is good for your soul… _

That clown doll, the one from Secondhand Rose, is there to greet her, propped up against her pile of clothes. It smiles at her, almost knowingly, and the sight of it has her heart thundering in her chest so hard she feels as though it might burst out. She backs away, and bumps into the closet door behind her.

“What the fuck? What the  _ fuck?” _


	13. All Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here we go

She took a bath that night, deciding she was in very dire need of something, anything relaxing to take her mind off the discovery. Her mind races with thoughts as she peels off her clothes, standing naked in the bathroom as she turns the faucet on. The sound of it is therapeutic, a soothing balm to her battered mind as she watches its journey into the basin, loud and boisterous but conversely soothing in its torrent. She’s itching to get in and warm her aching bones, placate her anxiety, but she decides to let it fill for a little longer. She deliberates for a moment, and then adds a liberal splash of lavender-scented bubble bath under the running faucet. When it’s three quarters of the way full she shuts it off, and in the silence of the room all she can hear is the water dripping from the entrance of the spigot accompanied by her racing thoughts. She delicately submerges one foot, savoring the heat that envelops her skin, that spreads throughout her entire body with a titillating shiver. Her other leg follows suit and she finally sits down within the modest confines of the porcelain, the water shifting rhythmically around her naked curves before settling into still tranquility. The steam of the bath is filling the room like a calming, ethereal mist, lulling her into peaceful and steady repose as she allows the stress in her bones to melt away in the water. 

As much as Angel didn’t want to admit it, this, all of this, was getting to her. She didn’t know what it meant, to tell the truth. She didn’t truly understand the implications, because all of it was too much for her. She goes over it all in her head, starting with the ghost from the transmission on Channel 27, before the gifts had started. She thinks about how the gifts had shown up not long after that, that she had interpreted them as having been from something protecting her from the ghost or, worse yet, the thing behind the disappearances. She thinks about the concert and about Halloween, about the mysterious figure that had kept trying to help her, how their eyes had been like distant stars calling to her from far away. She thinks of her dreams about Pennywise, and how his eyes had been near the same as those distant stars. All the times she’d been low only to find that her guardian angel was there with her, leaving her gifts in her time of need so she’d know she wasn’t alone. She thinks about the monster that attacked Patrick, that must have taken the shopkeeper of Secondhand Rose. That… Must have taken Georgie too. And she thinks about the doll, that she’d known was a gift intended just for her. She’d known it, she’d felt it. So just what was it doing here? What was it doing here after she’d had that run-in with the shopkeeper, who’d disappeared not long after she’d left the store? What did it all mean?

Some part of her knew what it all meant, or at least she thought she did. She didn’t want to even consider it. Her mind is awash with feelings she can’t escape, feelings of shame, of guilt, despair. She hadn’t wanted to consider it before when the shopkeeper had gone missing, and she wanted even less to consider it now. The implication that… The implication, that her guardian angel… Oh god, she didn’t want to even think of it. What was she supposed to do, how was she supposed to feel, being courted by something potentially responsible for all the disappearances, the deaths, the grim atmosphere perpetually plaguing the town? How was she supposed to deal with that? How’s she supposed to deal with the guilt of being involved with something that made the shopkeeper disappear, and Patrick, and so many others? _Georgie…_ Georgie too... It’s even worse that she’s bonded with them, has grown to love and to trust them, depending on them to bring her solace in her every time of need. If it really was true, she was something of an accomplice, she had empowered them in what they had done, what they will surely continue to do. The worst part of it being that she had no way to speak to them, to know for sure what their identity was, to have any way to know for certain whether or not her suspicions were correct. It was all simply up to speculation, and Angel was the furthest from an effective investigator that a person could possibly be. She didn’t know what to think.

As she stares at the yellow light fixtures above her bathroom sink, her mind starts to wander someplace else, to another train of thought. She needed to stop, needed to stop being so paranoid. She was thinking too hard about all of this. The doll was clearly intended for her by her guardian angel. She’d known it the moment she’d laid eyes on it. She’d felt it. The shopkeeper had gotten in the way of that, but there was absolutely no way to know that they were responsible for the disappearance, or for Patrick’s, or Georgie’s for that matter. She wants so badly to believe that her guardian angel was just that, a guardian protecting her from the menacing nature of Derry, even if she didn’t quite understand their motives in having chosen her. She’d spent so long getting to know this thing, whatever or whoever it was, and she didn’t get the sense that they meant her or anyone else harm. They were sweet, they were thoughtful, they clearly cared about her happiness. How could she sully their good reputation with a few bad thoughts and feelings? How could she? She feels her mind slowing as she continues to rationalize it all, as she feels all the dread seeping away from her in the water, and the yellow lights above the sink are more striking by the second, almost searing, almost blinding. For some reason, she feels like she’s getting sleepy, though she can’t bear the thought of moving now, can’t summon the energy to lift herself from the tub. Her eyes are starting to glaze over; her limbs feel like dead weights in the water, and despite her meek mental objection she starts to drift away into lavender dreams…

Her eyes open when she feels something behind her. The tub feels much bigger, impossibly so, big enough to accommodate someone else and she figures she must be dreaming. The lights above the sink are now the same as they ever were, dim and unassuming and she feels like she’s sitting in something’s lap. There’s the delicious feeling of something like silk pressed up against her naked back and she shivers when it shifts behind her. It tucks a wet lock of hair behind her ear and leans in close.

“Hello, Angel.” It whispers huskily. She knows that voice, it’s him. 

“P-Pennywise?” She asks, her voice small.

“ _Ding-ding-ding,_ my sweet. When I saw you here I couldn’t resist. You looked so beautiful in here, like a lovely little water nymph…”

She’s speechless and he laughs. It echoes.

“What’s the matter, pet? Are you not pleased to see me?”

“N-no!” She exclaims, flustered. “I just… I didn’t expect-”

“Didn’t expect to find me here? Yes, well, us clowns are _full_ of surprises.” He says. She can hear the twinkle in his eye. “Now _you…_ You’re something else… Look at you, my dear, _entirely_ predictable.” He cups her face from behind, one playful hand on either side of her face. “So cute, so red you are, and you can’t even see my face. Don’t tell me…” He says, leaning in again. “...You’ve got a little crush on ol’ Pennywise?”

She squeaks and he looses a fit of impish giggles. He doesn’t even give her a chance to deny it. 

“Yes, yes, I knew it! Pennywise can tell, oh yes he can! Can tell it by your pretty red face, all your cute little noises. Tell me, my sweet, would you like it if I… Did this?” 

His hand slides down from her cheek and trails lower, and lower… It dances down her neck, down the curve of her collarbone, and finally settles just above her breast.

“Would you, hmm?” It trails just a little lower, and she whines. “Hmm? Oh, _look at you,_ you can’t even _speak._ Tell me, pretty girl. Tell me what you want.”

His hand ghosts over her breast, his finger swirling delicately around the tender bud of her nipple. It hardens under his touch.

“Puh-please… I…” She’s weak, can hardly muster the strength. Where had all her composure gone? She was usually much more eloquent than this. But here with him, like this, all she could seem to manage were a few whimpered words.

He cups her breast, massaging it gently with his hand. “Is this what you want?” He breathes into her ear. She throws her head over his shoulder with a mewl. 

“Y-yes…” She whines. “Yes... _Please…_ ”

He grins. His hand travels lower, over her stomach, caressing her curves. “Is this...What you want? Do you want me… Here?” He tickles her tummy mischievously and she bursts out in laughter.

“Yuh-yes!” She squeals. “Yes!” He laughs with her too, and then he’s silent. His hand is moving again. 

_“...Is this what you want?”_

His hand has gone lower, lower, lower, trailing over the delicate flesh of her thighs and lingering there for a moment before moving again. It finally finds a place in the tender spot between her legs and her breath hitches in her throat. He fondles her down there, one devious finger trailing up and down the lips of her pussy, slowly, deliciously… And then… And then, it dips inside ever so slightly…

She arches her spine, throwing her head back again as a breathy moan escapes her throat. 

“P- _Pennywise!”_

“Is this what you want, my dear?” That finger is moving deeper inside, the rest of his hand resting gently on her mound. She’s squirming in his hold, bucking her hips up into his hand ever so slightly, unconsciously spreading her legs in the tub as far as she was able as he simply continues his ministrations. A second finger has delved inside, rubbing at her clit, and the first simply carries on in its exploration. “Tell me, sweetness…Do you want Pennywise… Here?” 

She freezes up when his finger brushes up against it. He _tap tap taps_ on her clit and then, at long last… His finger dips inside.

She wakes up. She jerks suddenly, sitting upright as the water in the tub jostles around her. The sound of the faucet _drip drip dripping_ into the tub is there to ground her, an amiable dialogue to bring her back into reality. It echoes faintly in the silence of the room. Her face is still scarlet even as she towels off and retires to her bedroom, even as she warily regards the doll while she’s getting into her pajamas, that is, a big baggy t-shirt and a pair of panties. When she crawls into bed that night, she’s shaking; not out of fear but, rather, titillation. That dream had been the best one yet by a thousand miles and she still can’t believe everything that had happened, everything she had felt. Forget dreams about Pennywise, she’d… Never had a dream like that before, period. Angel had never been fortunate enough to have wet dreams. Her brain was particularly cruel to her in that regard, choosing to deny her something that would have made sexual frustration of the past much more bearable. But now, just like everything else, things were changing, and for why she had no idea. But that didn’t matter, not at this moment, when she could still feel the lingering sensation of his touch on her skin. She lays in bed, stewing in it all, burning with desire and then she can’t take it anymore. She reaches into her bedside table drawer and extracts something to help soothe, to help scratch the itch that so desperately needed to be scratched. She’d bought it some weeks ago during Christmas, and had only used it once prior to this. But now… Now, she _needed_ to. 

She peels her panties from her legs and falls back onto her bed, spreading her thighs as she does so. Breathless, she wastes no time; she positions it between her legs, rubbing it up and down the wetness of her slit and pushing it firmly into the tightness within. When she finally pushes in the tip she hisses in pure, unabated pleasure, pulling it back out and pushing in again, deeper this time. With each movement of the toy she’s rocking into it with her hips, pushing it deeper and deeper with every simulated thrust, until she’s finally worked it all the way in to the hilt. She turns the dial on the end, and delicious vibrations start to work their way through her body until she’s gasping, breathless, panting. And as she fucks herself on the toy, Pennywise can see, can hear her crying out for him in ecstasy. He can see her, touching herself, letting one hand wander over the most sensitive parts of her body, cupping her own breast, throwing an arm over her face as she squeaks and shudders and shivers in absolute pleasure. Can see, even as she readjusts herself, positioning the toy over her pile of pillows and riding it, the way she arches her back and moans into the emptiness of the room. Rolling her hips with slow, deep, deliberate thrusts, she makes delicate, fragile sounds and keeps her hands firmly on the mattress.

“P-Pennywise…” She mutters under her breath. She continues, even as the vibration of the toy sends dim frissons of pleasure tingling through her loins. Continues, even as those frissons of pleasure build and bubble in her gut until they are ever-present in her mind, until all she can think about is this one simple end. She moves her hips faster now, and her noises grow increasingly more insistent, more frantic. She doesn’t notice the eyes trained on her, never leaving her form. She doesn’t notice the deep rumbling that underscores her own noises, the way the ground beneath Derry seems to tremor with something powerful and beastly. She doesn’t notice any of it, too caught up in her own world of carnal self-indulgence.

“Pennywise, P-Pennywise…! I- Oh god, oh _fuck…”_ It’s faster and faster. She’s riding the toy with reckless abandon now, bouncing on it, consumed in the way it makes her feel, the way the thought of him touching her makes her feel. All she can see in her mind’s eye is him. All she can see is the two of them together, their bodies pressed together, drinking in each other’s lust and longing. It spurs her on, drives her toward that ultimate end, and she couldn’t stop now even if she’d wanted to. All she can do is keep riding, keep fantasizing, keep thinking of him. She falls forward onto her chest and keeps humping the pillow, caught in a relentless rhythm now, chasing that sweet, sweet bliss that was so close within her grasp until it’s inescapable. It's coming, she can feel it, and as she passes the point of no return she seizes up.

_“P-PENNYWIIIISE!”_ She squeals, letting her orgasm roll over her in deliciously sinful waves. She manages a few more weak thrusts and then she collapses forward into her bed, burying her face into the pillows beneath her. 

“P-P-Pennywise… Pennywise…” She mumbles brokenly. The night is still and listening.

Once she’d gotten herself cleaned up and drifted off to sleep, it had been the most peaceful sleep Angel had had in a very long time. She hadn’t dreamt after that, but after something so ridiculously indulgent as the bath she could hardly be disappointed about it when she woke up the next morning. She doesn’t so much roll out of bed as she buoyantly hops out, and as she gets ready for work that morning she has to stop herself grinning ear to ear, fighting back the blush that’s staining her cheeks, that wonderfully lewd feeling blossoming between her legs whenever she recalled the sound of his voice rasping in her ear. She regards the knit doll staring at her from her clown shelf with a cock of her head, thinking on it in silence, and sighs as she picks it up and studies it in her hands. It really was quite adorable. She couldn’t very well resent such a thoughtful offering, and she’d paid for it in the end, after all. She studies its googly eyes and the red yarn hair peeking out of the white cap atop its head, and she starts to smile as she hugs it to her chest. Her. It was a her. She simply felt it in her guts, and she’d even thought of a name. When she places her back on the shelf along with the other clowns, she pauses for a moment as she looks over them, and she’s about to shut the closet door but then she stops. No. She picks her up again and, after a moment of deliberation, turns and deposits her against the center pillow on her bed. She carefully tucks in the doll and pulls her arms out to rest over the covers. Pepper. Her name was Pepper.

Work that day was painless. Angel took her duties in stride, attending to the shelves and putting back returns with relative, quick-footed ease. Quite a few people needed help with book selections that day but she wasn’t fazed by it; she would direct them to where they needed to go and then she would return to what she was doing, passing the hours quickly as she let herself get swallowed up by thoughts of Pennywise and the dream she’d had last night. Thoughts about what he had done, what he would have continued to do if she hadn’t woken up burn in her mind, consuming her like a tepid fever. As she continues her shift she has to stop herself from zoning out too much, knowing better than to invoke the wrath of the looming librarian who always seemed to be one step ahead of her. When she was on break, however, she would go into full-on daydream mode, sighing contentedly with elbows propped on her knees as she let the pictures in her head play out like the most breathtaking movie in existence.

It had been such a long time since she’d had a crush of this magnitude. To be completely and totally frank, she didn’t think she’d ever _had_ a crush of this magnitude period. She’d had fixations on fictional characters in the past (one of the earliest and most memorable being a blue-skinned space prince from an old cartoon about a giant robot), but even they hadn’t been so enchanting to her that she spent this much time thinking about them. Pennywise seemed to be on her mind in some capacity twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. Always wandering into the forefront of her mind at the most inopportune times, taking the most precedence in her thoughts whenever he did and distracting her from whatever she happened to be doing at the time. One day when she was grocery shopping she dropped a jar of pickles on the floor simply because she saw someone with near the same color hair. It was a little embarrassing, but Angel could hardly fault herself for coping in the only ways she knew how during these difficult times. She lived in a small town by herself, surrounded by people who either ignored her or had it out for her, she felt excruciatingly lonely, people were dropping like flies around her and there was a very distinct possibility that whoever was making these people disappear was after her, maybe even the kids too. She needed distractions, even if those distractions were copious and unhealthy. It was the only thing keeping her sane.

When she goes home, she’s still in good spirits. The commute is pleasant, and she finds a gift from her guardian angel, the disembodied head of a doll lying in a curb next to a manhole cover at the corner of Jackson and Witcham. Anyone else would have looked on this offering with frozen, abject horror, but not Angel. Angel picks it up with a smile, replacing it with a ticket stub from one of her very first concerts (Bad Brains in 1981, which her parents had somewhat reluctantly driven her to on their way back from a trip after she’d begged them) and idly continues on her way back. When she greets Mayor Jello after she steps through the threshold of the front door, she picks him up and nuzzles him, only stopping to let him down when he fights to break free of her arms. Dinner that night was leftovers from the day before. Angel goes to bed that night stewing in some kind of excitement, vainly hoping that her little hallucination in the bathtub was a signifier of some kind that the dreams had returned. She hadn’t been so lucky after New Years, but who knows, right? She’s still reliving it, still caught in the web of its influence, and it takes her some time to finally drift off to sleep…

She wakes up, groggy and disoriented, and her alarm is particularly jarring on this morning in particular. No Pennywise dream. Par for the course, but something else was strange. She hadn’t had any dreams at all. None. Nada, zip, zilch. It had been quite a while since that happened, and she finds it utterly strange and a little disarming. Nevertheless, she gets dressed and goes about her day. Back to normal, she supposed. Except normal, as it turned out, was turning out to be not so normal. As the days wore on, as January came and went and became February, Angel had continued this strange and unusual pattern. Sleep was a featureless black void from the moment her eyes fluttered shut to the moment they opened again to the sound of her morning alarm and even as she slept in on the weekend. Angel didn’t quite know what to make of it at first, but then something else caught her attention. Slowly but surely, the gifts from her guardian angel were dwindling into nothing. She didn’t notice so much the first week or so; it was not often she found gifts every single day, after all. Usually she would find one every one to two days. She was truthfully thankful for the gaps between gifts, because it gave her time to find something new to offer in return. But now the gaps were just… Getting bigger. The first week she’d only found about three at most. The second, only two. The third she’d only found one gift, and she hadn’t felt that familiar warmth at all when she did.

Angel had found herself growing more in tune to things around town whether she liked it or not, and this, whatever it was, felt like an omen. She couldn’t help herself from feeling those bad, bad feelings, from thinking such bad, bad thoughts, and with the growing absence of her guardian angel she was starting to feel very much unsafe around town now. Whenever she left the house she felt the distinct sense that she wasn’t alone, that she was being watched, and it wasn’t at all pleasant or comforting like it had been before. She was starting to withdraw, she was becoming a recluse, avoiding leaving the house whenever it was physically possible. It was true she wasn’t much for the outdoors before this, but she at least had the confidence to be able to walk over to the local pharmacy and go home with a couple bags full of groceries. Now, she simply didn’t want to chance it. The kids hadn’t stopped by in a while; had been busy with school, and she couldn’t very well blame them for getting caught up in their studies or other such adolescent happenings as it were. No, it was simply Angel by herself, and this was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing in the sense that she didn’t need to put on an act for anybody, but a curse in the sense that she was just so _afraid._ She was left alone with her own thoughts, and it's not as though she wasn’t already left to her own thoughts on a regular basis, but now that her guardian angel seems to have shuffled off all of a sudden, all she could do was frantically wonder what had happened so suddenly. What had she done, if anything at all, to ward them off?

It’s all she could think about for days going into weeks. What if her guardian angel really _had_ abandoned her? It’s a terrible thought, and one she can hardly stomach. Had they stopped liking her gifts? Were they jealous of her feelings for Pennywise? Did they think she was spurning them for him? Did the monster possibly get the last laugh over them, and now they were no more? All she can feel is fear and guilt. Fear for herself, fear for the children, fear on behalf of her guardian angel, fear that there was nothing to stop the monster from taking her now that they were out of the picture. Guilt for her inadequacy, guilt for her feelings about Pennywise, guilt for some instinctual feeling in her gut that she can’t truly put words to. She is lost and scared and now more than ever she dreads living alone, but still she wouldn’t dare to communicate that to her family. Even if she’d somehow mustered the nerve, how would she even begin to explain why she suddenly wanted to jump ship on this whole thing? She needed to be strong, she needed to commit, even if it was hard. Even if it was getting harder to sleep at night, harder and harder to pretend that she was holding everything together.

Still no dreams. Angel had given up again on that whole business by now and was now concerned mostly with the continued absence of her guardian. Things were… Just so _cold_ now. Before, even when things had been at their worst, there was still the warmth of being, of feeling protected, that she could cherish and hold onto. But now that they were gone, she just felt like she was always trekking through an unforgiving frozen tundra, always sinking knee deep into frigid snow with each step. She wished now more than ever that she could feel that heat, like a warm blanket about her shoulders, keeping her safe and shielded from all that would possibly do her harm but it wasn’t there. There was only the cold, dead nothing, and she didn’t know how she was supposed to cope with it on top of everything else. Everything else, everything that had been eating away at her; Georgie’s disappearance, the death of Patrick, the shopkeeper from Secondhand Rose… Her depression and mood swings, her body issues… Her loneliness… It was all still there, and it was crushing her into the ground.

Her loneliness was especially prominent lately, that’s why Pennywise had become so important to her. It was a very particular and very agonizing pain, and it was one he could alleviate so effortlessly. Whether he did so in dreams or through her TV screen didn’t matter; she just wanted to see him, because seeing him made her forget it all, even if just for a short while. There was something about him that was so innately comforting to her and she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. In a sense, he gave her the same warm feeling that her guardian angel did, and that was remarkable, for she had no way to truly describe the sensation she would feel when she would find those beloved offerings, of knowing in some cosmic way that they were meant just for her. She could hardly question it though, not now. Now, here, in all this uncertainty, in all this fear and apprehension, she desperately craved that warmth in any way that it would come to her, so she gave herself to her most recent obsession in any and every way possible. Would think of him at night while she shivered under the covers and tried to fall asleep, would draw and paint him during the day when there was nothing else to fill the hours; imagined him escorting her to wherever she needed to go when she left the house. She clung to those ever-cherished blocks when the Derry Children’s Hour would come on and she could see him again in the flesh or, as close to in the flesh as he could possibly be anyway. She’d keep her eyes rooted to the television screen, no longer in the doe-eyed adoration of before but rather, in pure need. She _needed_ him, now more than ever.

February was chugging along at a snail’s pace, and every day was uncertain to Angel now. She felt so insecure and so vulnerable that she’d started carrying Pepper around with her wherever she went; wore her pearl heart around the clock, even every night when she crawled into bed and took Pepper with her under the covers. She hoped, she prayed that the protection of her guardian angel didn’t end with their mere presence, and that their gifts were somehow imbued with that security, that they would keep her safe from the monster, from whatever was snatching people up from the town. It was taking everything she had not to cry her eyes out on a daily basis, from calling out of work or even quitting her job, packing up and leaving Derry behind forever. It seemed rash, it seemed unreasonable, but she couldn’t help herself from entertaining these trains of thought nonetheless. The only thing that stopped her was the thought of crawling back to her family, of admitting that she couldn’t handle things on her own like she’d said she could. And though she didn’t want to think about it too hard lest she get her hopes up for nothing, she had the faintest sliver of hope that her guardian angel was still around somehow, was still looking out for her even if she couldn’t feel their presence.

He was watching her throughout all of this. He had never truly stopped watching her, not since the bath. Truth be told, it had been hard to restrain himself during that last dream. He wanted to take her, take her right then and there, in every conceivable sense of the word. He wanted to shove her wet, dripping body up against the plaster wall and make her wail with absolute pleasure, take her back with him to the sewers beneath Derry where she would become his now and forever. But he couldn’t. That wasn’t it, wasn’t the time. He needed to still himself, needed to be patient. It was so close within his grasp that he could feel it, but all the same he needed to keep his composure and continue to dangle the carrot as it were. She was eating right out of the palm of his hand, had been ever since the gifts had started, ever since he’d started appearing on that silly little television show. All his efforts to draw her in were slowly but surely bearing fruit, and it was only a matter of time before the inevitable harvest. It was so close… He salivates at the thought of holding her, of touching her, feeling her fragile skin beneath his merciful claws. No, he wouldn’t hurt her, would never hurt her unless she wanted him to, unless she begged for it. He would always treat her with kindness and consideration, because he knew she would do the same for him.

He watched as she struggled with everything she didn’t understand, everything she didn’t know, watched as she struggled with the morality of possibly developing feelings for a monster. He found it adorable, all of her confusion, her belief that her guardian angel was a force different altogether than that of the eater of worlds, the way some small part of her wondered if they might be one and the same nonetheless. He loved how unsure and uncertain she was of it all, loved how she kept second-guessing everything she was discovering, the way that she would rationalize everything that didn’t quite sit right in an effort to soothe her own battered conscience. It made her all the more vulnerable to his manipulations and he could see the path ahead, could see her morality slowly but surely degrading as a result of him tweaking her strings. He watched as he ceased his attentions, how she had grown to feel defenseless and abandoned in the apparent absence of her protector. He watched as she grew more fearful and reclusive as a result, deciding to flex the might of his dreadful influence on the town now in an effort to shut her off more from the world, all so she would feel unsafe. Watched as she leaned headfirst into her little crush, trying to bury her head in the sand so it all wouldn’t feel so terrible and frightening. Though he loved her and wanted only her happiness, he knew this was necessary to bring them together. It would all be worth it in the end. It was almost time.

Angel could not be less prepared to cope with the arrival of Valentine’s Day, her least favorite holiday of them all by far. It had always been a bitter occasion; even in elementary school, before she’d fully understood the depth or scope of romantic feelings she’d grown up spurned by the majority of her classmates, and things had only worsened as she grew into an adolescent and the kids got colder, more cruel. The growing rumors didn't help matters either. It was true, she had a liking for the aesthetic of the holiday but that was really as far as it went for her. Beyond that, she either couldn’t care less or she would count the seconds until the day was finally over. Most of the time, it was the latter. As much as Angel hated to admit it, this was a vulnerable day for her, with all her insecurities and problems with self worth tending to peak at their highest during this juncture in the year. They would reach an apex, in critical danger of bubbling over, and this was a time that Angel would dive headfirst into her worst coping mechanisms. She would eat her feelings until she felt nothing but numb, and then she would try her best to just forget it. That is, until the next year rolled around.

Seeing Derry all decked out in hearts was a pleasant sight if irritating, and Angel is at least thankfully safe from the emotional peril of the holiday in the confines of the library, where she spends most of the day simply throwing herself into her routine as much as humanly possible. Once her shift is over she takes the quickest route home, still terrified and paranoid as a result of her protector’s recent disappearance, and practically kicks in the door as she rushes inside and slams it behind her. Mayor Jello has been pensive lately, soaking in his owner’s bad vibes, and is often absent from the living room now when she comes in. She doesn’t particularly notice. Once the adrenaline from the walk home has worn off she’s left tired and lethargic, and all she wants to do now is get undressed and watch TV. Once she’s set everything down she strips off her pants right there in the living room (not like there was anyone around that could see her anyway) and peels off her bra from underneath her silk sweater. She discards both articles of clothing into the basket in her room and finally settles into the crook of the couch with the remote. Turning it on, she surveys the channels.

Angel was able to forget it all for a couple hours, finding that today was actually a rather good day in terms of what was available to watch on TV. She’d gone to Channel 27 first and unfortunately hadn’t found anything, so she flipped through the other channels instead. She actually managed to catch an entire episode of the Golden Girls this time rather than stumbling on it in the last five minutes of its runtime, and after that she found a late afternoon block of Family Feud that had just started. Overall impressive considering the track record of Derry’s typical broadcast range. She lingers on that channel for a great while, wasting away the hours and trying to distract herself from dwelling on the godforsaken holiday she dreaded so much. When the Family Feud block comes to an end it transitions into a series of re-runs for a show about a seasoned police officer-turned-attorney and his plucky younger sidekick. Angel had never been too particularly fond of this program so she picks up the remote and sifts through the channels again. It would seem Derry had returned to its routine predictability, offering little more than its usual catalog of tired news broadcasts and sports reruns now. She sighs, thumbing through the list of channels with half-hearted indifference until she cycles back around again. She looks at the clock. It’s later. Maybe… She flips forward on the remote, counting the channels until she gets to 27, and the familiar sight of the quirky town set she’s grown to know and love flickers into view on the screen. It appears to have just started or, at the very least, she seemed to have caught it right after commercial break. Yes!

“Hello, and welcome back to the Derry Children’s Hour!”

She can tell that it’s a recent broadcast, because the set is all decked out with hearts and balloons. It was clearly a Valentine’s Day special of some kind. She’s filled with hope as she watches the hostess speak, wanting more than anything to see him, here in her time of most desperate need. He’s absent for the time being and it's simply the hostess engaging happily with the children and the children engaging back in turn. She asks the children if they know what they’re celebrating today, and they all answer the obvious question in perfect unison. She smiles brightly and continues the conversation, and Angel starts to find herself the slightest bit irritated. He was almost assuredly present for pretty much every conceivable special occasion on the show, so she had almost no doubt in her mind that he would be here. She just needed to wait for her to stop talking and introduce him. Just needed to wait, and be patient. For god’s sake, Angel, it’s just a TV show. It seemed an eternity passed of her simply shooting the breeze with the children, and she’s about to tune out completely, but then-

“Say hello to our special guest, kids! He’s back to tell us all about today’s big topic!”

Her heart skips a beat. He pops up from behind the bleachers as he always does, and she swoons, drunk with delight as she watches him dance into view. He introduces himself to the kids, and the camera fixes on his face as he begins to speak. Angel doesn’t blink. She doesn’t breathe.

“Now, as you know,” He begins. “Today’s big topic is love. Tell me kids, do you love anyone? Your friends, your family? Tell ol' Pennywise- who makes you feel special?"

The kids speak in scattered discordance, all giving their own answer to his question at the same time.

"Wonderful, wonderful! He's so happy to hear it! The world is filled with love, you know. Even ol' Pennywise feels it..." He pantomimes a beating heart over his chest. " _Riiiiiight_ here."

"You love someone too, Pennywise?" A girl in pigtails asks, leaning forward in apparent interest. "Who?"

He pauses and points to himself quizzically. The kids nod their heads enthusiastically. "Oh, me? Someone very special, kids. _Very_ special."

"Who is it?"

"Yeah, who?"

She swallows hard, her eyes glued to the screen, her heart pounding restlessly in her chest.

"A very special person indeed, Pennywise has. Someone meant just for him. Have you ever had anyone like that, kids? Someone who you know that makes you super happy inside, just thinking about them? Someone who, when you think of a smile on their face, you can't help smiling too?"

Some agree, some shake their heads.

"Oh, well, you'll all find someone kids! Every one of you! My special person, see, she doesn't know yet just how special she is. She's out there waiting for me, right now."

"She is?"

"Yes, yes indeed! And Pennywise is so happy when he thinks of her, and he can't wait to be with her, more than anything."

She’s staring at him bashfully from behind a pillow now, her face beet red. All she can think about is… The thought of being that special person, of being the person he speaks about so fondly. It’s a fantasy she can’t help but indulge, the pang of something familiar sending butterflies fluttering in her stomach again as she stares unblinkingly at the screen. She feels so warm as she watches him continue, talking about just how beautiful she was, the person in question, how many talents she had (cooking, making art and playing music, as he listed off the top of his head), how it was almost time for him to be with her. She can’t stop herself from imagining herself in that position, projecting herself onto the person he describes and finding that she fit almost every descriptor to some varying degree. All of it, well...

_Except for the beautiful part maybe._

"How long will she have to wait Pennywise?" 

"It's not long now, kids." He says with a warm smile. His eyes are dazzlingly blue, and there's a lighthearted twinkle in them. "Pennywise just has to be patient a little bit longer, has to wait for the right moment."

"There's a right moment?"

"Oh yes. It's important to know when that is, kids, it makes a world of difference. Have to think, have to see, _feel_. You have to trust your instincts, that feeling down, deep _doooowwwwn_ in your gut."

"You think so?"

"I _know_ so, kids."

The host then comes in to announce a commercial break and the clown says his cordial goodbye to all the children.

"Now don't worry, kids. Pennywise will be back, real _real_ soon, okay?" He tells them. His eyes flicker toward the center of the screen, and he winks, blowing a playful kiss. 

_“Promise promise.”_

The show cuts out and she can do nothing but stare, slackjawed and enchanted at the screen. She’s still caught in the throes of the fantasy, like a fly caught in gossamer strands of spider silk, caught up in thoughts of him taking her in his arms, telling her how lovely and special and talented she was; praising her, validating her, _loving_ her. Thoughts of her being with him, being his special person… She replays the broadcast in her mind, replays everything that he said and her memory harkens back to the dream she’d had in the bath, the way he had spoken to her and everything that he had done to make her feel just that, special. She buries her face in the pillow and muffles a squeak, letting that wanton tingle gently wash over her body again at the thought of it. She lays on the couch for quite some time, having turned off the TV now. She didn’t care about the rest of it. She’d gotten what she’d wanted, she’d gotten to see him, and on a day where she truly needed him. It was all that she wanted.

The euphoria is still fresh and vivid in her mind, but as time goes on it starts to wear and suddenly before she can process her emotions she’s blinking back tears in her eyes. And then, those tears roll down her cheeks, and when she drags herself off the couch and into her bedroom she’s weeping. When she numbly crawls into bed she’s sobbing inconsolably, and she can hardly breathe as she cries into her pillows. She wants the dreams back, she wants to feel like she can be with him. Anything was better than nothing. She just… Wanted to see him… She hugs her mound of pillows in desperation, clinging to them for dear life as she dampens them with her misery. She imagines him there, holding her, consoling her, comforting her as she bawls her eyes out. She wanted to feel loved, she wanted to feel safe, she wanted to feel anything but this. Her sobbing is momentarily placated when she finally falls asleep, thinking of him all the while in the hopes of finding him in her dreams. There is nothing but black, and she stirs uncomfortably in her sleep as the hours pass. She doesn’t feel him, she doesn’t see him. Doesn’t see anything. She wanders through the blank ether for an impossible amount of time, and then, when her eyes flutter open again in the darkness, she finds herself turned away from her pillows. No dream, no sign of him anywhere, not even in the vacant recesses of her thoughts. With a helpless whimper, she’s about to loose a frustrated scream in the darkness but she’s rendered mute, petrified by the sensation of something drawing its way up the skin of her thigh from behind. Something leans down to snuffle into the pulse of her throat, and from there it plants soft, wet kisses from her neck all the way up to her cheek. There’s hot breath as he whispers in her ear, and she shivers at the sound of his voice.

_“I’m here now, my darling.”_


	14. Dream Come True

All it takes is a few whispered words, a few delicate, tender touches, and just like that, Angel feels all her misery starting to melt away. She knows the voice, can tell even without seeing that it’s him, the object of her dreams and all of her enduring, burning desire. Pennywise. It’s Pennywise. She can hardly believe the thoughts in her head, her mind racing to accommodate the confusion as it frantically works to assess the current situation. Those kisses are divine as he works his way up the slope of her neck, and now that he’s here her body is buzzing, it's crying, every drop of her blood is _screaming_ out for his touch. Without conscious thought she submits to the sensation of his hand working gentle trails down the skin of her thigh, the sensation of cool and decadent silk making her sick with some kind of longing she didn’t fully understand. And all the while he continues breathing into her neck, scenting her, drinking in the delicious aroma of her yearning, so compelling and utterly powerful that she practically radiates it, bathes in it. She’s melting into his chest, her body fitting in so perfectly with his, two puzzle pieces simply meant for one another and she wants to stay like this forever, but before she knows what she’s doing she’s rolled over to face him. She buries her face into the breadth of his chest and starts to sob; long, drawn out wailing sobs that she drowns in the grey silk of his suit. But despite it all, despite the misery of before, despite all the fear and dread and uncertainty, she’s not crying out for any of those things. No, she’s crying out of happiness; pure, unadulterated, unabashed elation. She’s hugging him so tightly and he simply returns the gesture, pulling her closer to him, shushing her gently, offering her solace in lullaby words.

“Shhh...Shhhhhhh… It’s okay, my girl… I’m here…” He whispers. His words are gentle clouds in a tranquil, blue sky. She simply floats among them, a weightless passenger, gravity all nonsense now. “You don’t have to cry, don’t have to be lonely anymore… Pennywise is here, he’s here now… Shhhh…”

With each minute, each passing second that he holds her there, an all-encompassing, tingling warmth is starting to consume her, much like the heat of a lit fireplace to flesh frigid from the icy cold. Numb and senseless, she feels sensation returning to her now, and now more than ever she can feel how sublime he is pressed against her. The warmth is so familiar, it's such an ingrained physical feeling she can’t help but ruminate on, and when she can hear, can feel his heartbeat, the rumbling, purring sound in his chest, she knows exactly what that feeling is, having felt it so many times before that she’s practically memorized it. It’s… It’s her guardian angel. Somehow, some way, he’s here, and brought with him that distinct reassurance, that soothing comfort, telling her in his own unspoken way that he was with her, that she wasn’t alone, that she never was. The realization is a dizzying one, but she can’t possibly think to question it. Here in this moment, she is void of any objection. She feels like she’s safe; she feels like she’s home.

“Is… Is this a dream…?” She asks, breathing into the silk.

He hums, a sound inhuman but nonetheless tranquil and serene. It’s almost insectile, a _burring, chirping, chirruping_ sound. It matches his heartbeat perfectly.

“...Do you want it to be?” He asks, his voice delicate and even. She shakes her head bashfully, head still buried in his chest.

“N-No.” She whispers. “No. I d-don’t ever want to wake up from this.” His hand snakes underneath her chin, coaxing her head up to look him in the eyes. She almost wilts from his stare but she can’t. That warmth only intensifies, and she shivers when it works its way all the way from her rosy cheeks down into the tips of her toes. Her eyes are a sleepy, hazel forest, pale under the febrile weight of two smoldering suns and she’s affixed to them, unable to falter, unable to look away. He smiles, stroking her jawline with one careful, considerate thumb.

“...Then the dreams are over, pretty girl. Pennywise is here, and he won’t ever leave you alone again. Never.”

She’s speechless and certainly mystified, hypnotized by the sheer weight of his words. The realization of who he was is one as stunning as it is miraculous, and she loses all composure, all her biting wit and fecundity, unable for the life of her to resist this in the name of all her confusion and uncertainty. All she can think about is how good it feels to finally see him, to feel him in all his gorgeous splendor and share his company, share his gaze and gentle touch. She can feel how real he is and she can hardly believe it. She thinks of all the gifts, the times he had reached out to her, protected her; all the days she spent pining for him when she searched high and low on her TV for that silly little children’s show, and just how much his enduring presence meant to her in her times of deepest dread and despondency. Some part of her had the inclination that they might be one and the same, but she hadn’t imagined in a million years that such a ridiculous notion might actually be true. She’s stupefied by it, stupefied that she had, for once in her life, been right about something. Conflating them had been an instinct she couldn’t rightly explain, but it had been an instinct all the same. A feeling, so ingrained that she couldn’t dismiss it, no matter how inane or ridiculous it seemed. And now that he’s here, it all seemed to fall into place. It all seemed to suddenly make sense. And it all felt so right, knowing that something that meant so much to her, that offered her so much comfort and consideration was also conversely the thing she had developed such strong feelings for. She didn’t know who or what he was, but that didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

He stares into her eyes for so long. It seems like an eternity, like time has slowed to a crawl around them, and she can feel the tension between them, can feel the mutual, shared desire. She wants to kiss him, to feel those full, red lips against hers but she doesn’t want to force it or be presumptuous; she wants to let whatever will happen happen naturally. Some part of her is so incredibly shy and can’t fathom making the first move, a product of having played second, third, or fourth fiddle to everyone her entire life. Angel was a girl who might’ve put on a brave and brazen front in public, but she was truly as bashful as they come. It took someone truly special to coax out that side of her, to bring out a vulnerable face she dared not show to anyone else. He gazes into her hazel eyes with such passion, and she feels her face flare up with heat as he dips forward, but instead of aiming for her lips he lands on her neck, and there’s more kisses, soft and sweet and tender. He plants his nose against her pulse with a deep, snuffling inhale and she manages a breathy gasp, melting into him and tilting her head back to grant him further access. He felt so good, so warm and protective, like a childhood blanket that felt so right and familiar flush against her tired skin. She’s moaning and whimpering, but those sounds bubble into giggles in her throat when he starts to nibble gently on her earlobe. He joins her in her laughter, and the sound of his joy in her ear is something beautiful to her. When the laughter stops he becomes somber, starting to breathe feather-light whispers in her ear as he holds her close.

“...I pined for you, my sweet. I pined, I _ached,_ I waited so long, just for you… You’ve no earthly idea, just how many days I counted, the eons I spent alone, just how patient I was… Just waiting for my mate, my _precious_ mate to come upon this earth, the loveliest flower ever to bloom upon this soil…” 

She has no questions, can’t think to question any of it; too happy, too lost in how moonstruck she was that he was reciprocating her long-established feelings. She’d never had the luxury, had never experienced such a thing before. Her stomach flutters with joy and his words pluck at someplace wanton deep inside of her, one particular word that stands out to her flickering in her mind like a solar flare as she shares his embrace. _Mate._ She was his mate. The notion is so intimately romantic that she’s enamored with it, even if she doesn’t yet quite understand what he’s saying, the implications of what he means.

“But you’re here now, and what bliss it is, to finally look upon your beautiful face…” He nibbles her ear again and she makes fragile, delicate sounds. “My girl, my love, my other half… Made for me… _Destined_ for me…”

“M-Made for you…?” She asks, her head resting against his chest again. He purrs.

“Yes, my darling… The one nice thing he ever did for me, made me something to love and call my own… Something to complete me…”

_He?_ She’s silent. She doesn’t question it, not now. She’s sure the answer might come in time, and even if it didn’t, what did that matter? What did it… He strokes her hair lovingly, planting a kiss atop her head, and she melts. Suddenly, she’s all caught up in experiencing the moment, this moment. She wants so badly for it to last longer, maybe even forever. He appears to read her thoughts. 

“I know you want this just as much as I. Your skin is melting under my touch, and yet Pennywise can hear how your heart races…”

He was right, and she knew it. What had she pined for for so long, if not this? Angel was starting to lose her grip on everything, and had been for a while. It was an inevitable symptom of her depression to get caught up in all the things that were wrong in life. Even if there was nothing particularly wrong to get upset over, her mind would still find a way to dwindle into despair. Living on her own was nice in ways, but it was not without its host of problems. Angel had thought she would enjoy the independence, but as time went on it became clear that she had bitten off more than she could chew. It had started out just fine, and she’d enjoyed her job at the Derry Public Library and even the Bassey Park fairgrounds at first, but every new change in her life would inevitably stale in time, becoming nothing more than a routine she would quickly grow tired of. There was something so depressing, too, about leading a normal, human existence. Everyone yearned for normalcy it seemed, but not Angel. Never Angel. She had always craved the unknown, though it was something she’d given up on finding well into her adolescence. She had resigned herself to leading a banal, lonely existence, interrupted only by brief bouts of spontaneity. Never in a million years did she think she would become the object of something’s attentions like this, least of all a… A destined _mate_ to something she didn’t yet fully understand. She still reels at the word, one simple word that makes her head spin with questions. Who she was, what she was, how she had come to be if she was seemingly meant to exist just for him. All of this was just so new, so out of left field that she’s still grappling with it. And that led her to him. She wondered what he was too. He was clearly not of this earth, if the gifts and the dreams were any indication. He was something else, something otherworldly… And he had chosen _her._ Her of all people. That’s why she hadn’t shied away from his offerings, hadn’t been put off by any of it, not since it had all started. She was just so glad to be shown the attention that she simply couldn’t refuse it.

She adjusts herself in his hold now, scooting upward on the bed so she’s closer to his face, resting her head gently against the ruffles at his neck now. He rests one hand on her hip; the other is fingering lightly through her chestnut tresses, petting her head as he does so. She loves the sensation, the attention, letting out a long, fragile sigh of adoration as she hugs him tighter and nuzzles against the taffeta. On a whim she lifts her head up to look at him and his eyes flicker from the top of her head to her face again. His eyes are so ethereal and unearthly, like she’s staring into the sun, and his hair is perfectly coiffed wildfire that frames his pale visage so elegantly. She starts to feel lightheaded and Pennywise grins. He dips down for another sweep of supple little kisses, nibbling at her ear and sucking gently at her neck like she’s the most exquisite taste in the world, a flavor so deliciously decadent that it must be savored like a fine wine. She shudders with pleasure and gasps at his attentions.

“P-Pennywise..!” She squeaks. “P-Pen- I- _Ahh~_ ”

“ _Yes..._ ” He purrs, amid kisses and more nibbles. “Yes, pet, say my name… The name of your love, your soulmate, the one who you were made for…” 

Her heart pounds so hard in her chest, it feels as though it might burst out. His name is so beautiful to her, swirling around her mind in a dizzy sea of foolish desire as she swoons with lovesick reverie for him. _Pennywise…_ Her mind plainly can’t grasp all of the questions she should be asking. Her mind is simply a blank, so purely occupied by something as simple as touch. All it takes is a sweep of those silken pleated arms and she is a slave to physical longing, submitting to him entirely when the power of their mutual tension becomes too overwhelming for her. All she can do is sing his name in sensuous yearning, in pure and absolute _need_. And it takes all his power, everything that Pennywise has not to give in to his own base impulses. It takes all his strength, it drives him wild; he has to restrain himself from digging beastly claws into the meat of her thigh. So vulnerable, so exposed beneath his fingers, beautiful olive skin just begging for him to draw the warmth, the beautiful, blossoming flowers of red from fresh gashes beneath her flesh. But no, cannot do such a thing. Won’t do such a thing. Can’t hurt her, not this one, not until she was one with him in permanence, belonging to and with him in every sense of the word. Not until he took her, not until she begged. And he knew she would in time. 

He knew who she was, knew everything about her, including her most perverse sexual proclivities. Shy though she was, he knew she was an experimental girl in private, and that she was not immune to the thrill of rough treatment in that regard. And oh, how he longed to treat her roughly. It was the primal, savage impulses in the depth of his core, calling to base instincts he has waited so long to properly indulge. He wanted to pin her against the floor, hike her pretty little ass up in the air, take her cunt so hard and so fast, make her cry and squeal in pleasure like a stuck pig, and at the end of it all he would fill her with his seed, his eggs, would sink his fangs into the meat of her shoulder and make her take it all, laying atop her for hours until it finally stuck inside of her. He wanted to see her full with him, swollen with him, unable to properly walk as they, his ungodly spawn, grew deep within her belly. He would indulge anything and everything she ever wanted or needed during this time, as he would always take proper care of his mate, would always lavish her with the finest, filthiest pleasures he could offer.

But that was a long way off as of now. He knew he needed to take his time with all of this. He had already made great strides in seducing her, and while she would be rather easily won in the end if all of this was any indication, he knew it would go much more smoothly if he introduced things to her in good time. Pennywise was also a predator at his core, and some part of him craved the thrill of the chase, the purest joy of savoring a long-deserved conquest. He would continue as he had been doing; he would give, would endow, would spoil her with his attention, would tease her and tantalize her and titillate her with dirty words until she couldn’t take it anymore, until the tension between them became too much for her to handle. He would simply wait for the right moment to strike, wait until he could see the overwhelming desire in her eyes, and then he would take her for the first time. He would make her addicted to his touch, he would make her so sick with longing that she would spend the hours of the day craving it, pining for him, moreso than she already was. He simply couldn’t wait for it all, but he knew it would all come in good time. He just needed to be patient.

So he restrains his claws from breaking through the silk of his glove, instead letting his hand linger upon her thigh, moving inward towards her panties, in between her legs. He doesn’t dip his fingers inside though. No, not yet. He had given her a taste in the bath, but he wouldn’t truly touch her down there until she begged for it. He would only fondle her above her clothes for now, would set boundaries and let her tear them down when she was ready. It would be so much more delicious that way. He wanted her to want him. He grins into her skin when she mewls so sweetly, squirming under his teasing and subconsciously moving in closer to his hand. He knew she wanted more, but he knew she wasn’t going to ask for it, not yet. She was just too shy. But he would dismantle all her walls in time, he would demolish her inhibitions and unlock all the intimate details of her sexuality. And he would delight in it every step of the way, pulling all her threads until she came apart for him. How he would rebuild her to be even better than she already is, and reconstruct her in his own ideal image. 

He still worried of her learning about who he truly was. That was the one thing that concerned him. Though she was slowly but surely accepting his manipulations, his… History would no doubt be a hard pill for her to swallow. If he didn’t conduct himself carefully and introduce the concept to her in the right way, he might risk scaring her off and sullying all his hard work. And he’d be damned if he was going to let that happen. He had waited, had worked too long and too hard for his labors not to pay off. He simply wouldn’t allow it. No. He’ll nudge and subtly tamper with her until her morality eroded, would create an ethical crisis in her mind, would make her choose him in the end over everything she’s ever known, everyone and everything she’s ever loved. It would be a hard task to undertake for sure, but Pennywise was nothing if not skilled in the art of manipulation. After all, he’d been perfecting his abilities for centuries, and though she was his soulmate, she was in the end a prize to be won, and Pennywise never lost a prize. Never.

He’s still kissing her neck, peppering her with the sweetest, softest attentions he can offer her as he holds her close, thinking about all of this. Thinking about how, on a whim, he could easily bare his fangs at her throat and drain the life right out of her, and yet she trusts him so completely. It wasn’t like he would ever do that to her. Though she was only human, Angel was nonetheless nothing like the rest of them. Pennywise bore indifference at best for her kind and outright hatred at worst, and yet he simply couldn’t fathom the thought of any mortal harm coming to her. It was because she was different. She was intended to share herself with him. Her sole purpose in the world, the reason she had been brought into existence in the first place, was to love him and keep him company, to coax out a better side of him and temper his worst impulses. How laughable, he thinks with derision on that last part. He would not let himself be tamed by love. She, and she alone, was the only one worthy of seeing such kindness from the eater of worlds, but he would not bestow that same consideration on anyone else. Not her family, not her friends… _Not those children._ No, certainly not. Their mere existence was an obstacle to him. All they did was stand between him and what he had been pining for for centuries, and Pennywise certainly wouldn’t tolerate such a thing. In time, he was going to remove them from the picture entirely. And in time, she would no longer care about stopping him. Yes, there would get to be a time where she would care only for him, so much so that she would do the unthinkable and leave it all behind simply to stay at his side. He would see to it personally, because nothing would give him greater pleasure.

He plants another wet kiss and then licks a gentle trail up the side of her neck, stopping to nibble at her earlobe again. He whispers her name, her _real_ name, in her ear and she shivers so deliciously with another fragile mewl. Reflexively, she hugs him tighter and he growls, returning the gesture. He’s careful not to hug her too tightly, but he hugs her just tight enough that she can hear, can feel his alien heartbeat thudding against her chest. In this moment, they truly are one.

“Yes, my girl…” He whispers lowly. “ _My_ girl… Mine, all mine…”

His voice plucks at that wanton chord again and she squirms, doing everything in her power to move in closer and grinding against his hand as she does so. They lay there together in an eternity of minutes that pass so deliciously slow, seeming to last forever as they share in each other’s silent company. Pennywise, in his impressive stature and imposing build, is not intimidating to Angel so much as he is calming and comforting and pleasant. As she clings to him in her bed she feels nothing but safe and secure, and she nestles into the comfort of his ruffles with contented ease. She feels so warm, _he_ feels so warm, and she’s so cozy that she feels herself finally starting to drift off again. Pennywise has one hand idly petting her hair, and the other has drawn away from the inside of her legs to rest on her thigh again. Nothing too lecherous, not for now. The time would come for that, and he would savor it, but this was something to be savored too. It was simply sublime, the two of them pressed together; there were no words to really describe it. Pennywise had ached for this feeling for centuries, and how breathtaking it was, to finally look on her tired face as he touched her, as he truly held her in his arms for the first time. 

He hums, a gentle rumbling in his chest singing her to sleep, a low lullaby, a pleasing purr to soothe her wary mind. With nothing but the sounds of his content and the hypnotic melody of his heartbeat, Angel would find all of her troubles simply melting away, and they would not return for the rest of the night. She would sleep soundly in his arms, and he would only make his departure just before she woke, deciding that now more than ever was the time to emphasize the importance of his presence and just how much it gave her peace of mind. She wouldn’t dream about him, not anymore, now that he had made his existence to her clear, now that he could visit her and she would readily welcome his embrace, the sheltering security of her protector, her guardian angel. He wanted to create that longing in her mind, wanted her to mourn his absence, and he knew that by the time she opened her eyes in the morning, she would feel that emptiness start to creep up inside of her again. He had fostered so much of her attention already, having built up his inevitable manifestation for so long, and now the time had finally come to feed that growing obsession of hers. She had developed feelings for things, for people in the past, sure, but this was the first time she’d ever had such feelings reciprocated. He knew it would drive her wild, knew that she would want more, and he was more than happy to give her that, more than happy to give her reason and incentive to come closer to his shepherding hand. He would delight in breaking down her psyche, having her come to justify his ghastly deeds in time, and all because he offered her something that no one else could. All because he loved her, gave her attention, provided her refuge from all that would ever bring her harm. All because he made her feel special, an elusive feeling she had never managed to truly capture her entire life. 

And she _was_ special, make no mistake about that. This wasn’t all about manipulation, though Pennywise might never admit it out loud. Yes, there was some part of this that was genuine, a genuine effort to lavish his long-awaited love in what she truly deserved, to give her what she had always been missing. His eldritch heart truly broke for her plight; he knew what she had gone through, and all because she was unknowingly waiting just for him. He’d not known, would never know such a feeling for anyone else, would not allow himself to. He was promised, had promised himself to one and one only, and though Pennywise was a selfish creature, he was not without loyalty to that which was worthy. If she took care of him, he would take care of her. And he knew she would take care of him, for that was what she was made for. It was ingrained in her nature to be loving and compassionate; it was part of what he admired in her, for he couldn’t muster the same for anyone or anything outside of her. She’d spent her entire life in preparation for him, though she’d never known it, a bleeding heart that had broken plenty of times throughout the years for the wrong people. But not for him, he would see to it, would make sure of it. After all, they had an eternity to spend together, and he would treat her with all the dignity and respect that she deserved. He was the ruler to this shitty little town, and she would join him by his side; a meriting companion, kind and just to his merciless disposition, a yin to his yang. And as he looks down at her sleeping visage, he smiles. He could simply watch her like this forever. He longed to sleep with her through the seasons, the two of them frozen in time together for twenty-seven long years until they finally woke in preparation for another cycle, again and again and again. The thought is simply captivating.

The hours pass slowly, but every second is simply delicious, and the longer that Pennywise lays there with her, the more he dreads having to leave her. He knew it was all for the best, though. He would surely have more time with her. They had, after all, all the time in the world to spend together. Though it was hard to wait and be patient now, he knew that it would all pay off eventually. Come the end of this cycle, she wouldn’t dare leave his arms, not for a second, for she would simply be too accustomed to his captivating warmth to do so. When the dark of the night becomes the early, chirping morning, he fades into the air like a specter, leaving only a mound of blankets and pillows in his place. Almost as though he’d never been there at all, but he knew she would know better, or would come to in time. Now was different from all the times of before; this would be something new, something she would want so badly to replicate. And as he looks on her from afar, he can see as she shifts in her sleep and drowsily opens her eyes, feeling around in her tired haze for something that no longer existed with her, already missing the sensation of his tender touch. He can see it in her face, the way her heart sinks; the way the tears brim in her eyes as she hugs her pillow to her chest. She already misses him, and nothing in the world could bring him greater joy.


	15. Gone

Once Angel wakes up and finds him gone, she’s met with such sinking sadness that all she can do is hug her pillow and blink back the stinging tears in her eyes. Suddenly, all of it comes flooding back to her. All she can think about is how he felt last night, pressed up against her for hours; all the sweet things he said, just how at ease she had felt, like all her problems simply didn’t exist so long as she was in his arms. The revelation of who he was is still shocking to her, but she’d be lying if she said no part of her had known that Pennywise was connected to her guardian angel. The dreams were the most damning evidence of that, and Angel, while fairly oblivious most of the time, was by no means stupid. It had been a gut feeling, and she couldn’t just ignore a gut feeling; it was something she’d come to trust over years of bad experiences. Eventually, once she’d started to rely on that feeling in her stomach, the pits or the butterflies brewing within, things had become less painful with time. She simply couldn’t ignore the strength of that instinct, the sweeping warmth that always coursed through her when she found his gifts, and how she’d feel the very same watching him on the TV or finding him within her dreams. How she’d felt such comfort and protection from the both of them, the only meaningful bastions to her in such times of turbulence and unrest. There were the children, and of course she was blessed to be in their company, but they were, in the end, just children. They had lives of their own and she respected that. She wanted something of her own to bring her purpose, and it looked as though she might have finally found it. As she nuzzles sadly in her pillow, she remembers that one word, and the way it had made her feel.  _ Mate.  _ It makes her feel just a little bit better.

There was simply nothing left to do now except continue in her life. Angel couldn’t just wait around for her knight in shining armor or, rather, her knight in silken clownsuit. She had obligations to attend to. She gets ready for work, all the while entertaining thoughts of him, possibly watching over her. While she’s getting dressed, something saucy sweeps over her like a fever and, engrossed in her fantasy, she puts on a show for him, dropping her panties to the ground and dipping over sensually as she plucks a new pair out of her clean laundry hamper. She wiggles her hips as she puts them on and cups her breasts when she clasps her bra closed. She runs her hands down the length of her body seductively and, though she might have just imagined it, she feels something of a light but telling tremor beneath her feet. She puts her hair in a ponytail and tightens it, and then she finishes getting dressed. Mayor Jello is aloof when she fills his bowl with food, and seems to be avoiding her for some reason, hiding behind a chair leg whenever she draws near. She doesn’t think much of it; he could be extremely fickle in mood sometimes. While he was a very affectionate cat, there were sometimes days he didn’t want to be touched at all and she was inclined to respect it. After all, even cats have boundaries.

She bids him goodbye and then she sets out. The world, for some reason, seems a little brighter as she walks her commute, and for some reason, she’s standing just a little bit taller. Her life was still the same as it ever was, and all her problems hadn’t simply disappeared, but right now they didn’t seem to be the fate worse than death that they had been just less than a night ago when she was weeping disconsolately into her pillow and pining so painfully for something she thought she might never be able to indulge. She had spent some time recently living in such fear of the evil within the town, fearing that her guardian angel had abandoned her, fearing that she was now a moving target for whatever had attacked Patrick on that fateful Halloween night. But now that fear had been properly assuaged with her protector’s reappearance, and she no longer needed to stew in such dread and apprehension. Well, not about that, anyway. As she works her shift, her mind wanders on all kinds of things. Most notably, she wonders if what she experienced was really just a dream or if it was actually real. To tell the truth, it could honestly go either way with how offbeat and unusual this town was, especially in regards to what she had experienced personally. Something about Derry was simply not right, and she couldn’t shake that no matter how hard she tried. That’s why she had clung so hard to the notion of a guardian angel, why she had accepted their affections so readily and invested so much love and trust in them. Though she hadn’t really understood at the time why they had picked her to fixate on, she couldn’t spurn the protection of something that clearly had her best interests at heart. She would be simply foolish to do such a thing.

But had it all been a dream? He’d said it wasn’t, had even said he wouldn’t leave her again, but all the same, he’d been gone when she’d woken up in the morning. Was he still here? Was he simply referring to having left her completely in those weeks following up to Valentine’s Day? Why had he even done such a thing? Was he caught up in something else? He seemed enigmatic and otherworldly. Maybe there was simply more to him outside of her and she just didn’t understand what that was. She didn’t know whether or not she could rightly ask him about such things either, or not yet at least. If what he’d been saying was true, she would be seeing a lot more of him in the future, and he might even share intimate details of himself with her as time progressed. After all, they were… They were… Her face flushes scarlet at the thought, and all the implications it made. He’d said she was made for him, was destined for him, and she wondered what all of that might mean. It seemed as though destiny definitely played a role in all of this, she couldn’t rightly deny that at this point. Just who was she? She starts to come of the assumption that perhaps it all really was a dream, simply one more vivid than all the ones of before. It didn’t seem impossible, and was in fact the more realistic of all the various scenarios.

As she assists with checkout, she starts to wonder if the gifts might still play a role in their relationship. Surely there was no reason for the correspondence to continue if it was, in fact, not a dream? Had it all been an attempt to woo her, a way to court her, and now there was simply no reason now that they were properly introduced to each other? It all really was perplexing, and her mind simply cannot grasp the infinite questions she wished she could ask. She truly wished she could see him again, even if only on the Derry Children’s Hour. Maybe she would look for it when she got home. Although… There was the distinct possibility that all of that was over, too, if that was simply another way to reach out to her. There  _ was  _ also the possibility that he would continue in his attentions, simply in an attempt to keep contact with her when he wasn’t able to be there in person. After all, she assumed he must surely have other obligations to attend to outside of her. Perhaps he was busy keeping the evil of the town at bay, a cause worthy enough for her to be understanding of his absence. She couldn’t rightly fault him for having other things to do; she refused to be  _ that  _ person, who was so possessive that she wanted him to be at her every beck and call. It was enough that he was there in the first place. She tried to keep that in mind.

Work passes rather quietly and without much incident. Though she’s antsy and on the lookout for any strange sightings, Angel isn’t plagued by bad thoughts. Rather, she’s still reliving last night through a rose-colored lens, can’t so much as summon a single shred of suspicion or distrust in her guardian angel. After all, what reason would she have to have such feelings now, when he had been nothing but kind and considerate to her, caring and protective and gallant? She couldn’t ignore those feelings inside of her, the sheer safety she’d felt within the strength of his embrace, and some part of her was assured of that safety. Try though she might, she couldn’t shake the idea, the instinct that he meant only the best for her, that she would remain safe under his watchful eye. 

_ “I’ll always protect you, my sweet.” _

And she’d gotten the feeling he’d meant it, when she woke up that morning after Halloween. The dreams seemed prophetic in a sense, building up to something in time that was bigger than anything she truly could have imagined. Life in Derry was incredibly simple, and she hadn’t thought in a million years that the unusual would seek her out like this, grab her hand and whisk her off into the unknown. Even as a girl who revelled in the strange and the peculiar, she had to admit that it was all very perplexing, that she quite frankly wasn’t prepared for it, for any of it. But oh, how delightful it was, to share his touch, to hear him speak those words to her; soft, lilting prose that made her insides dance with exhilaration, unbound and unabated and unceasing. How her blood had sung for him, had begged for him, how she was little more than a slave to her physical longing as she felt the silk of his suit in her fingers. And he’d clearly meant something to her if her reaction to his disappearance was any indication. Angel was rather an emotional girl, had tended to wear her heart on her sleeve, quite frankly another trait that should have rightly gotten her killed by now in a town like this, and yet still she made it through her entire adolescence relatively unscathed. Well, unscathed of mortal harm anyway. She was a girl prone to outbursts, a girl prone to crying and weeping and caterwauling over the dumbest things. She was a girl who felt things very strongly, and it very often made her look like a sentimental fool but she couldn’t stop being this way any more than she could stop breathing.

She missed him. It was stupid and yes, sentimental, but it was true all the same. She knew she needed to be patient; it was only a single morning after he’d left, after all, and she’s surely gone longer periods of time without seeing him before. But this… This was different. This was different from all the other times. Even if it had been a dream, it was the most vivid one she’d ever had. It had lasted so long, she had felt things she’d never felt before… He’d felt more  _ real _ than ever before… She didn’t even want to admit it, but some part of her craved his touch. Was addicted to it in a sense. Once she’d gotten a taste, she’d wanted more. And she knew she would surely get more, but that didn’t change the fact that she wanted him, wanted him  _ now. _ Her face is still red as she thinks about it, thinks about the way that gloved hand had felt so divine against the screaming heat of her skin, the cooling silk working with his kisses to bring her back from overheating completely and she has to stop herself from shortcircuiting right there at the front counter. She couldn’t keep thinking about this while she was working, it was clear it was too much of a distraction. But she still finds him lingering in the depths of her mind, ever-present and indomitable, demanding her attention like a needy child. And she could do nothing else but oblige, finding his presence in her subconscious comforting in so many ways that she couldn’t stand to ignore. Customers find her spacing out at the front counter and she has to snap out of it before continuing in her duties.

The walk home is easy and she feels reassured, no longer ill at ease about the evils of the town in this moment, no longer so needled by the niggling sense that something was after her that she was fearful and apprehensive of even the sound of rustling leaves. Though she didn’t feel that telltale warmth now, some instinctive part of her knew that he was watching over her, even if he wasn’t physically present. With each passing day she was becoming more in tune with his aura, accepting it readily like the notes of a heady perfume and letting it wash over her like pleasant waves on a sandy shore. In each step she takes she imagines him there with her, accompanying her, escorting her on her walk home and she smiles at the thought. The idea of being in a relationship with something… It was new, it was exhilarating. Her mind is swimming with hypotheticals, hypotheticals of what was to come should he return to her. She delights in the prospect of more cozy, comfort-filled nights, him at her side, lulling her to sleep, holding her until her eyes grow too heavy to keep open. She thinks of him coming to visit her at work, flustering her while she tries to focus on her job, teasing her mercilessly as she sorts through the returns… Cornering her down in the archives where no one could see the two of them, moving in on her where she couldn’t be any more vulnerable... She thinks of him joining her on the couch during TV time, idly passing the hours with her, and she thinks of him telling her more about himself, thinks of herself gradually learning more about him until she understood him just as much as he seemed to understand her.

She comes upon Witcham and starts to make her way down the path toward her neighborhood, casting an indifferent glance at the Grace Baptist Church, Derry Elementary and other such dull landmarks as she passes them. To tell the truth, she really hadn’t known why she had chosen to stick around Derry so long; besides all the rampant crime and grisly happenings it was such a painfully plain place to live, and for someone like her that created very little incentive to stick around. When the day had come however and her parents had announced their plans to move to Haven, she’d felt some kind of a sinking feeling, something downcast and a little bit crestfallen. For all its faults she rather liked living here; she’d grown up in it all, and Derry had a certainly undeniable small town charm to it. And really, were all her bad experiences really so bad, bad enough to justify leaving it all behind? She’d ruminated on it, had thought on it night after night after night, and had eventually come upon the decision in the end to stay while the rest of her family moved on. After all, she surely couldn’t shirk the opportunity to try making it on her own, even if it was hard. She was a grown adult, it was time for her to start acting like one. She’d grown up rather dependent on her parents for just about everything, and while she didn’t mind it growing up it was slightly less free of guilt now when she was fully grown and had so many resources for independence readily available at her fingertips. If she was cut off from them she would have the opportunity to spread her wings and fly, as it were, no longer beholden to the confining security of the nest in which she was raised. Maybe that’s why she’d chosen to stay behind. That was the more rational reasoning. The other was less so, though she couldn’t deny it was growing more and more plausible by the day. The idea of destiny, the idea of something bigger than herself that was keeping her here, that had created the conclusion in her mind not to forsake the place in which she was raised. It was slowly but surely making itself more apparent in her thoughts. It had seemed that destiny was now calling to her in some fashion, if the manifestation of Pennywise in her life was any indication. All the gifts, all the days, the months she spent pining after him on the Derry Children’s Hour, it was all building towards something, and it seemed as though that something had finally arrived, culminating in them finally coming together like two puzzle pieces, separated for the longest time by a force she couldn’t possibly comprehend.

It was so romantic, she thinks, positively enchanted. She’d never had the pleasure of experiencing such bliss. The feeling of him pressed up against her, when just moments before she’d been so shattered and heartbroken that she wanted to scream, was so relieving that it truly defied words. How all her dejection seemed to melt away with a single brush of his hand against her thigh, those gentle words whispered in her ear from behind, how she’d known it was him simply by the sound of his voice alone.

_ “I’m here now, my darling.” _

And how speechless she was. It had taken everything she’d had in that moment to stay composed, and when she’d turned inward towards his chest she truly couldn’t take it anymore, the floodgates had opened and she couldn’t hold back her joy any longer. She was simply so relieved by his presence that she couldn’t possibly think to deny his embrace, not then, not in her most desperate time of need. She had cried into his chest, every heaving breath she had taken bringing her more healing and comfort, feeling herself lifted every time she gasped air into her starving lungs. She’d taken in his scent, so deliciously indulgent, something like caramel apples and cotton candy and funnel cake all coming together to create the sensory image of a carnival in her mind. It was so pleasant that she couldn’t deny its captivation, how hypnotizing and bewitching it all was; nostalgic in a sense, evocative of the past, of happy memories and wistful reverie.

When she comes upon the walkway of her house she’s still ruminating on it, all of it, hadn’t stopped since she’d woken that morning. She was almost in a trance of some kind, and she couldn’t for the life of her break it, couldn’t stop thinking of all the joy of last night, thoughts of sensations so unfamiliar that they were addicting. Angel was and always had been a touchstarved girl, deprived of anything physically affectionate beyond that of which her family offered her on occasion. That was simply the package deal that came with being lonely and unwanted, and over time she had grown to accept it, had remedied it only with mounds of pillows and sentimental, unrealistic thoughts. The fact that he had touched her… The fact that he  _ wanted _ to, had seemed so happy to, it drove her wild. She’d never been wanted by someone before. She’d even wondered for the longest time if it were even possible for someone to like her that way; she’d had such stunning lack of fortune in that regard that she honestly wondered if she repelled people rather than attracted them, and her track record in the town as she’d grown up could certainly attest to that. That she’d seemed to attract this beautiful thing, this  _ breathtaking _ force of nature; it was ineffable to her. Simply unfathomable.

She steps inside and puts down her things, still entertaining these thoughts even as she sets her sketchbook down on the dining room table. She kicks off her shoes, making her lunch for the next day. She cuts the crusts off her sandwich before bagging it up and depositing it into the waiting tin, and then drops a small assortment of pre-packaged things in with it. She puts her lunchbox away in the fridge. She sighs and gets undressed as she walks down the hallway to her room, and she briefly thinks about taking a nap, perhaps in a somewhat fruitless effort to see him again. She  _ was _ rather tired, after all. Even with all the excitement, perhaps in service of it, she had gotten all worn out, and the walk home was a relief to her, the aftermath of a day well spent working for her living wage. When she walks through the doorway of her bedroom, her eyes fall on the bed and her breath catches in her throat.

There is a friendship bracelet worn like a necklace around Pepper’s neck, and a note is waiting at her plush heels. When she opens up the note, she simply smiles and hugs it to her chest. “Miss me?”, it says, and it’s accented with the obligatory heart. The bracelet is in glittery beads of red and black, her favorite colors, and it reads “I  ♥ Derry” in whimsical uppercase block letters. The gifts had officially returned. She immediately dons the bracelet and holds her arm out to marvel at the way it sits on her wrist, delighted with the gesture and positively elated that he had started to continue his correspondence. The afternoon only improves when she makes her way over to the couch, and after a few minutes of sifting through the available channels she inevitably comes upon Channel 27. She’s met with a couple minutes of disheartening static but, emboldened by the discovery of the bracelet, she lets it  _ burr _ like white noise in her ears while she passes the time rendering loose sketches in her notebook. Her face snaps up to regard the TV screen with glee when she can hear the ever-familiar jingle of the Derry Children’s Hour. He wastes no time with preambles, it seems; when the set filters onto the screen the hostess is already speaking, like the episode had already started some time ago. Pennywise is present already, and her heart flutters at the sight of him, just waiting for him to speak, wanting so badly to hear his voice that she can hardly breathe. The hostess goes on about some humdrum topic of the day but Angel hardly pays any attention; she’s simply fixated on _ him,  _ waiting for him to talk, waiting for him to do anything except listen intently to the words of the hostess. When he remains silent she starts to let her eyes fall back down onto her sketchbook again, and as she passes the time listening to the TV she starts to get lost in the process of what she’s drawing. Her stomach stirs with something unfathomably pleasant as she details the figures in her sketchbook, and she lets a smile creep vacantly across her face as she continues. There, alive on the page, is a lively scene of Pennywise and herself, engaged in romantic dance, staring intently into one another’s eyes as they sweep tastefully about the paper. She starts to see it come alive in her mind, and she can see them both, so completely consumed in each other that the rest of the world simply doesn’t matter to them. Her eyes linger intently on the details of the sketch as she leans back to admire her work and-

_ “Angel.” _

She freezes. She pauses, and slowly turns toward the screen. He’s staring intently into the center now, out of the glass and directly into her eyes, leaving no doubt in her mind that he was most certainly talking to her. The hostess continues on as though he hadn’t interrupted, the entire show continues on unperturbed but he’s there regardless, speaking to her through the screen. She knows, in this moment, that none of it had been a dream after all. Not unless she was hallucinating.

“You’re supposed to be  _ watching, _ silly girl.” He wags a finger at her patronizingly. “You should be paying attention- shouldn’t spurn your precious guardian angel, pretty thing. After all, he’s here just for you.”

“S-sorry…” She mumbles, almost to herself, but she assumes he can hear her. "I'll, uh…" She clears her throat, setting her sketchbook down. She readjusts herself on the couch and he smiles.

“Good.  _ Good _ girl. Now… Keep your eyes on me, hmm?” 

She flushes red and he looses a fit of impish giggles. He continues on, now taking charge of the conversation on the screen as the kids listen intently to his words. The topic of the day seems to be art, and he goes on and on about how much fun, how fulfilling it is, how you can even make a career out of it if you’re so inclined. He turns toward the screen again, regarding Angel with a knowing grin and a wink.

“And that  _ is _ a lovely sketch, my sweet. I think it could use some ink though, don’t you?”

She makes a distinctly fragile  _ “eep” _ noise and he continues on unfazed. “Give it some detail, really bring it to life. Pennywise would really like to see it, you know. Wouldn't you all like to see it, kids?"

The kids all unanimously agree with cheerful laughter.

She looks down at her sketchbook again and they really are dancing right in front of her eyes. She’s breathless as she watches, the way they sway and spin and dip in each other’s arms. The dizzy, lovesick look on her stylized face, and the steady movements of Pennywise as he guides her around the paper are so vivid, the details so crisp and tangible on the page. It’s magical, it’s enchanting. It’s… Real.

“I’ll uh… I’ll do my best.” She manages weakly. She’s starting to grow fainter by the minute and he can see it, can see the way her lip quivers with want for him and the way she clenches her thighs together on the sofa. Can hear her little whimpers as she watches him speak, and the fragile breaths she takes as she rubs her legs together. Despite herself she’s growing… Wet, down there. Her mind starts wandering to lewd places, eventually falling on that neglected toy waiting in her bedside table drawer. He seems knowing, he seems aware of her thoughts, seems to read them as they come into her head. His grin is sly now, sly and mischievous.

“Dirty, dirty girl…” He purrs, his voice almost a growl. “How naughty you are. I can see the thoughts in your head. Can’t even wait until the program is over, can you?”

She’s caught off guard and she gasps.

“I-I-”

“You should wait for me, pretty thing. Wait, and be patient… Good things come to those that wait, don’t they?”

She’s silent.

“...Mmm…  _ Answer me, precious.”  _

“Yuh-yes.” She agrees, her face all aflame with embarrassment and shameless desire.

“Yes… Good girl…” His stare lingers on her for a while longer, one eye almost seeming to trail down, lower, between her legs. His eyes turn back to the children and he continues the conversation until the hostess finally comes in to wrap up the show.

“That’s unfortunately all the time we have kids. Say goodbye to our special guest!”

The kids all make their scattered goodbyes. “I’ll be seeing you all again very, very soon.” Pennywise says with a gracefully theatrical bow.

“...Promise promise?” She says, breathless, to herself.

His eyes flicker towards the center of the screen again, and he winks, blowing Angel a kiss.

_ “Promise promise.” _

**~~~~**

It had only gone uphill from there. If Angel had considered herself wooed by her guardian angel in the past, it was nothing compared to now. Now that Pennywise had officially introduced himself into her life, he saw fit to accompany her on a day to day basis in as many ways as he could, saw fit to make his presence very undeniable now. It was no longer limited to warm auras and vague feelings. There was no longer guesswork in the equation. Pennywise knew he had more than gotten the greenlight, as it were, and he would waste no time continuing to enrich the bond that he had already established with her, would waste no more time with mere implications or other such frippery. They were past that juncture at this point. She liked him, that was plainly clear, and she wanted to see more of him, so really, what harm was there in indulging her desires? He’s still giddy at the thought of it all, of having all his hard work pay off after months of patience, months spent biding his time. It had all worked out so beautifully in his favor and now it seemed his persistence was finally bearing such delectable fruit. 

Ever since the night he visited and the day that followed after, Pennywise would do his best on a day to day basis to remind her of his presence, looked for any possible way to be with her, at least in spirit, as he conducted his hunts and preyed upon the fear of the town. She would sometimes wake to the sound of him singing ever so delicately in her ear. Sometimes, when she walked to work, he was in her head, whispering to her hushed encouragements, telling her that she needed to get through today, needed to be strong and keep a smile on her face for him. Knowing full well that she had self esteem issues aided him spectacularly, as it made her so innocently trusting of his words and flatteries. His support didn’t by any means fix Angel’s problems or qualms with her job, and it certainly didn’t keep her from a downcast mood but it was a far cry better than relying on her own feigned spirit to get through the grit. He would still cheer her up when she was down, although this was less in the form of gifts now as it was often his own soothing voice in her ear, his own invisible hand sometimes clutching hers in a comforting vice, running smooth silk over her oft-shivering thumb.

“It’s okay, my pet… Only a few hours left now… You can do it, you  _ can. _ Pennywise knows it.”

  
On some better days, he would spend less time coaching her through adversity and more time following her around, commenting on how cute she looked. He’d kept his comments mostly innocent, but there were days when he could sense the yearning in her head, could smell it coming off her like a deliciously delicate perfume, and he would say something lecherous, something just naughty enough to have her squirming at the front desk. On one particular afternoon at the library, he’d gotten Angel so hot and bothered with just his words alone that she left right in the middle of assisting with checkout so she could run to the bathroom and splash cold water on her face. It didn’t help at all that Angel couldn’t exactly talk back to him in public without looking like a complete and utter loon, so she was left defenseless and vulnerable to any and all of his comments, all of his subtle little pushes and pokes and prods. He liked that. Liked to get her all flustered, because that meant that his manipulations were working. Liked to have her on the edge of her seat, the poor dear, because in the end it only made her want more. Liked to make her whimper and whine with exasperation, knowing she couldn’t possibly respond to him without making a complete fool of herself in front of God and everyone. Pennywise _ did _ sympathize with her frustration of course; he knew it was cruel to put her through such teasing when she had never been the target of anyone’s interest prior to this. He knew it to be wicked and certainly devilish of him to plant such seeds of hope in her fragile and battered mind, but he could justify it since he fully intended on nurturing those seeds. He fully intended to let them grow and harvest them when the time was right. In time, he would give her everything she had ever wanted, but only when she was ready for it. Only when she couldn’t take it anymore. Only when she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.


	16. Games

In the coming weeks of March going into April, there had come the next wave, the next vital stage of his attentions and the days that Angel had started to look forward to the most. These were nothing like the voices in her head, the phantom hands stroking her skin, or the experience of finding him on her favorite TV channel. Angel had spent such time these days simply pining after him, waiting for him to worm his way back into her mind, distract her, take her away from all her worries and doubts. To tell the truth, this wasn’t much different from the days of before, all those days spent patrolling the TV for the Derry Children’s Hour and all the time she spent sleeping in the hopes of stumbling across those delicious dreams once more, but now that she had tasted the true sweetness of his presence, there was simply no turning back now. Yes, Angel had truly experienced something she’d never had the pleasure of experiencing before, that is, the love and touch of another living, breathing thing, and now she wanted more. She wanted more, and knowing that the time was ripe to do so, Pennywise was more than delighted to offer it to her. It had begun one warm April afternoon, when the Losers had come to bless Angel with their blithesome, whimsical company. A conversation about the perils and pitfalls of pre-pubescent life at school eventually dissolved into listless boredom, and then Angel had saved the day with a simple deck of cards. They took to it immediately, all sitting in a circle around the coffee table. It was Angel, followed by Bill, followed by Eds and Richie, followed by Stan. The TV is chattering quietly in the background behind them.

“Alright, host goes first, and we’ll move in clockwise.” Angel had announced. She laid down a blue card inscribed with a three.

Bill is thoughtful for a moment, rifling through his cards and finally he sets one down on top of it. Blue seven. Eds places down a yellow seven and Richie grumbles before drawing a few cards out of the deck in the middle. He finally places down a yellow five and Stan counters with the same number in green. And so the cycle continues, the silence progressively growing more and more tense, just waiting for the first shoe to finally drop. It comes back around to Stan again.

“...Sorry, Anj.” Stan says with a wryness in his voice, as though he wasn’t really sorry. He theatrically sets down a card and a death knell practically descends over her head. “Draw four.”

She gasps dramatically. “You little  _ bastard!” _ She draws four cards out of the deck with a leisurely chuckle, and then places one of them into the middle with a flourish. Reverse card. “Your turn again, Stan the man. This way you can’t betray me a second time.”

“Fine by me, now I get to betray Richie.” Stan says with a devilish smirk. Skip turn.

“Oh come  _ on!” _ Richie wails. “I had a good one!”

Eddie snickers and places down a green nine. “Sucks to suck, doesn’t it Trashmouth?” Bill places down a green two.

“Can it, wheezy, or I’ll sic the hounds on you next go around, I've got some good cards.” 

“Oh no you won’t.” Angel says with a wag of her finger. Another reverse. The entire party flares up with a chorus of controversy and uproarious laughter. Bill snickers and puts down a second green two, then Eddie follows with a wildcard. “The color is red.”

“Yes!” Richie pipes up with a triumphant shriek. To the horror of everyone, he places down a red skip card in the middle. Stan stares at him silently with contempt. 

“Nice one, idiot, now we know what color you have the most cards for.” Eddie says, his tone snide and condescending as he shuffles through his own hand. 

“Yeah, and _ now _ the color is yellow.” Angel announces, placing down another wildcard.

“NO!” Richie howls. The room flares up again with laughter. 

They continue in their childish game, taking one round into the next and then a third and a fourth after that. Bill was a silent and unassuming winner, taking home the gold in the first two games and Stan and Angel taking home the third and fourth. As time goes on everyone is growing increasingly bitter at one another, a cloud of competitive loathing settling over all of them as they fight to best the next player. Angel could sense the tension growing in the air, tension surely unavoidable in such a high stakes game as this, and couldn’t stop herself from becoming consumed in the heat of it as well. She’s sitting crosslegged on the couch, leaning forward in her anticipation for the next move, waiting to see what pandemonium surely awaits with the placement of each new card. After a while, though, they all fall into caustic silence. The clock ticks insistently overhead. The chatter on the TV seems to grow louder in the increasing absence of sound. Then the matter-of-fact words of a news reporter gradually intrudes in on their collective thoughts, and before they know it grim conversation is born from the quiet.

“Who knows who’s doing it?” Eds had said. “I hear about this shit constantly, but they never seem to catch anyone.” He sets down a blue four. “Your turn Bill.”

Bill puts down a green four. “Yeah, it’s... It’s ruh-really weird. T-two kids from a grade down went m-m-missing in the last month. The p-police don’t even have leads on them, and it's been weeks.” He says quietly. Angel feels her stomach start to roil with something unpleasant but she ignores it. She puts down a green six and doesn’t say anything.

“It feels like the police don’t even care.” Stan adds, placing down a card of his own. “I mean, they say they’re looking for the missing people, but my dad says that’s just a bunch of bullshit posturing.”

“Really, Rabbi Uris said that?” Angel asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Well,” Stan says sheepishly. “Not in those exact words.”

“I don’t know, man, it just feels like things have been different lately.” Eddie says, placing down a reverse card. “Things haven’t really been the same since... You know, ever since...”

  
  
  


_ Ever since Georgie. _

  
  
  


They all fall into discontented silence. Bill is the quietest of them all. The TV continues on behind them, unphased.

“...Hey, uh, can we get a fuckin’ change of scenery in here?” Richie breaks the silence loudly. There’s an uncharacteristic nervous edge to his voice. “I hate the news- it's, uh, it’s killing my buzz, know what I mean?”

They all immediately agree. Angel picks up the remote. “Good idea.” She says uneasily. She starts to flip through the various available channels. 

“Your turn again Angel.”

“Oh. Uh...” She interrupts herself to place a card into the middle and then refocuses her attention back on the screen. There’s a baseball game on Channel 4, a hokey soap opera on Channel 10, a couple dull historical documentaries on Channels 14 and 15... Yawn. She continues. Even Channel 27 was nothing but static. She sighs and gets up, disrupting the game briefly to pluck a movie off the shelf instead. She slides her choice into the VCR slot and lets it play, comforted by the familiar sound of product-placement ads she’d heard a thousand times before. Everyone else seems instantly placated by the change of tone in the room too. The Paramount Pictures logo flashes briefly over the screen, and then the sound of a radio host announcing the beautiful weather in the city of Chicago cuts in sharply over the silence. 

“Ferris Bueller?” Richie mutters absentmindedly, his eyes flickering up to the TV as he rifles through his cards. “Good choice, Anj.”

_ “...Ferris? Ferris?  _ **_Tooooom!”_ ** __

Two well-to-do parents are fussing over their apparently sickly child. “What, what’s wrong?” His father asks.

“What’s  _ wrong _ ? For Christ’s sake look at him honey!”

He’s laying in bed, eyes wide as saucers, staring off into space. His father says his name and his spacey stare rolls lazily upward. He seems dazed and fatigued but it’s clearly an act, his voice child-like as he addresses them from under the covers and dramatically plays up his imagined illness. His theatrical performance is laughable and thin but somehow they miraculously buy into it anyway, even insisting he stay in bed as he makes meek attempts to sit up. “I have a test today,” He says, in intentionally weak protest. “I have to take it. I wanna go to a good college so I can have a fruitful life.” His mother adamantly refuses out of concern. “Honey, you’re not going to school like this now.” Cynical big sister arrives in the room, rightly skeptical of her brother’s supposed ailment but is nonetheless dismissed by her family anyway. 

“I’m okay,” Ferris says after she’s gone. “I’ll just sleep. Maybe I’ll have an aspirin around noon.”

After not much deliberation, the parents both agree to let him stay home, telling him they’ll check on him and to call them at work should he need anything. He hams it up even more, buttering them up with weak praise, lauding them for being such loving, caring parents, and they both bid him an affectionate goodbye. They start to leave the room, and his mother tells him she loves him before starting to shut the door behind her. There’s silence. After all is well and the boy is alone in his room, he cautiously sits up in bed. He listens to the door close, and then his eyes dart to the center of the screen. He’s smug.

_ “They bought it.”  _

The game continues on as though it had never been disturbed. The unpleasant conversation of before is nothing but a distant memory now, their minds now engrossed in the intense heat of competition once more. A fifth game turns into a sixth, and the better part of an hour passes over their preoccupation. Though the kids seem to have forgotten the grim topic of the disappearances, Angel is less fortunate, and whether she likes it or not, thoughts of it all are starting to stew in her mind again. It was true, Angel had been able to dodge these ruminations lately as a result of her lovesick euphoria, but they had all been buried in a shallow grave rather than six feet under. It was hard to ignore the unease creeping up when she was reminded of everything she’d heard and experienced, and then slowly but surely those thoughts would come rising to the surface again for her lack of delight. She didn’t like thinking of it, of any of it. If she’d had her way, she would happily keep her head buried in the sand with Pennywise and never let her mind linger on any of it ever again. But no such luck unfortunately. The only thing worse than being aware of such strange and ominous dealings was the frustrating knowledge of knowing there was nothing you could do to stop them. Angel had given up a long time ago on any foolish notion of ending whatever force of evil lurked within the town, not that she ever truly had had such a notion in the first place. No, Angel was more than aware that she was fairly inconsequential to this town, even as an apparent fascination for an esoteric guardian angel, and that there was little chance at all she might have any sway over its cosmic fate. But it didn’t stop her from feeling guilty about it all. It was such a futile and helpless feeling she couldn’t control.

Angel pushes it from her mind and tries to become consumed in the game again. In the process her mind starts to wander to other places, and she wonders where Pennywise might be now. He hadn’t been around much in the last few days; though of course, when he wasn’t whispering in her ear or monopolizing her attention on the TV, he was present in other ways. He would leave her gifts and notes just as he had done before, and they were more affectionate now, more personal. He’d leave her things that specifically catered to her interests. Special inking pens he’d conjured up from god only knows where, little pinback buttons and squares of fabric perfect for patch-making, her favorite candies from childhood... She thought it so sweet that he was trying so hard to keep her interest. It was refreshing and new and she, so enamored with him, leaned into the attention wholeheartedly. Pennywise knew it to be important to keep laying on the charm, knew it was crucial to continue in his courting behavior, but he had held off on continuing to be there with her in person, at least for the time being. He wanted her to long for his touch and his presence, wanted her to want him there, holding her, keeping her within the unwavering security of his protection. The time was coming for him to make his return, however, and the reunion would be so sweet, so delightful, the beginning of a new stage in their budding relationship. He had been so patient in the weeks following Valentine’s Day, and now he simply couldn’t wait to be with her again. He would come back to her, and she would welcome him with open arms.

“Oh, you  _ motherfucker.” _ Richie breathed.

_ Ferris Bueller’s Day Off  _ had finally reached its third act, and now focused on a conversation between the eponymous character’s girlfriend and best friend. They walk through Chicago’s crowded downtown thoroughfares during a lively parade, discussing Ferris and his whereabouts, seeming to have lost him somewhere in the crowd along the way. They’re meandering through hundreds of people trying to find him, the chatter around them loud and boisterous as they make their way down the congested street. The kids paid little attention to the movie, focused instead on the happenings within the fascinating yet frustrating world of Uno. Angel finds herself having forgotten about Pennywise and everything else for the time being, having gotten absorbed in the game herself once more. Bill had a tally of three games won now, Stan with two, Rich with one, Eddie with four somehow, and Angel with two, but the group had now forgotten how many games they’d played, having gotten lost in it for hours. They were playing through the deck for the umpteenth time, and this one had been a real nail biter so far. So many twists and turns, flimsy alliances turned inevitable betrayals, and obscenities shouted at one another that it was truly a sight to behold. At one point Mayor Jello had sauntered into the room, gotten a good, long look at the unfolding commotion, and promptly slinked back out to attend to his own matters. 

“You can’t  _ stack  _ draw fours!” Richie had exclaimed incredulously. “That’s against the rules!” 

“Nuh uh.” Angel informs him, reclining back on the couch. “House rules. Stacked draw twos and draw fours are totally free game.”

“Yeah, Richie. Read ‘em and weep.” Eds says smugly.

“Fuck that shit!” He’s appalled. “I refuse to honor three stacked draw fours!”

_ Psst. _

“You can’t just refuse, dipshit!”

“Like hell I can’t! I’ve got seventeen cards already, it’s not fair!”

“You’re being a sore loser, Rich.” Stan sighed.

_ Psst. Hey. _

They continue to squabble amongst themselves. Richie is adamant and will not budge, and everyone else is needling him to simply honor it and move on.

“Okay then, if you pussies get to stack draw fours, then I get to do this.” He throws down a blue reverse card.

“Hey, you can’t do that!”

“Sure I can. If you get a pass on breaking the rules then I get a pass too.” Richie says with a shrug. “Draw twelve, asshole.”

“I’m  _ not  _ drawing twelve, Richie!”

_ Psst.  _

She finally hears it. Her ears perk up.

_ Angel. _

While they’re arguing, she feels a shiver run up her spine, and she turns to face the source of the sound. The TV. The movie is still playing, Alan Ruck and Mia Sara still journeying through downtown Chicago, the crowd still chattering on in an endless chorus of white noise. A voice starts to address them from a P.A speaker; one familiar, smooth and lilting, but nothing at all like Ferris’s.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you’re such a wonderful crowd. We’d like to play a little tune for you. It’s one of my personal favorites, and I’d like to dedicate it to a very special girl who doesn’t know just how special she is. Angel, darling, look at me.”

She stares hard, her whole world dissolving into static around her. The camera shot falls on a parade float in the center of the screen, but instead of Ferris dramatically lip syncing the words to _ Danke Schoen  _ on the stage, Pennywise has bafflingly taken his place on the screen somehow. She’s warm now, she can’t believe her eyes as he walks among the costumed dancers, miming the words and playfully gesturing with his hands toward the center of the screen. He was singing to her.

_ Danke schoen, darling, danke schoen _

_ Thank you for all the joy and pain _

_ Picture shows, second balcony was the place we'd meet _

_ Second seat, go Dutch treat, you were sweet _

_ Danke schoen, darling, danke schoen _

_ Save those lies, darling don't explain _

_ I recall Central Park in fall _

_ How you tore your dress, what a mess, I confess, that’s not all _

He turns to face her completely now, and the movie continues on without him uninterrupted. The children don’t seem to notice his voice, or his presence on the TV. They simply proceed in their heated contention. It's just him and her.

“Hello, sweetness. It's so nice to see your lovely face again.”

Warm phantom hands cup her hips now and she has to resist the urge to gasp. He’s firm but affectionate.

“Uh  _ uh, _ precious girl. Keep it quiet, would you? Wouldn’t want them to catch on to us, hmm?”

She gulps with a nod and holds her breath as those hands start to wander up, over her clothes, toward her cotton-clad breasts.

“Yes... I’m sure you’re not ready to have that conversation, are you? Wouldn’t even know how to explain it... Oh,  _ look at you, _ your face is already all red. Cute little Angel.  _ Cute cute cute!” _

His hands ghost delicately over her breasts and go to her collarbone, stroking sensually there with one feather-light finger until she’s squirming. He cups her cheek now.

“Oh, darling... How good your skin feels underneath my fingers… Did you like my song? Did you find it as lovely as I find you? Oh, hold on- I think I have another one coming up.” 

_ You had better watch me. _

Richie smacks Eddie’s cards out of his hand and the argument flares up again. Angel doesn’t even process it. She’s off in her own world now, and his touch is so titillating that she feels that tingle start to work its way from her belly all the way between her legs again, even as  _ Twist and Shout _ comes on over the loudspeaker. Pennywise is lip-syncing the words to the upbeat number now, shimmying and dancing on the parade float as he pretends to sing into the microphone. All the while those hands are continuing to grope at her body, lewdly venturing over her curves while a marching band spiritedly plays along to the tune. They follow the beats of the song with brassy enthusiasm.

_ Well, shake it up, baby, now _

_ Twist and shout _

_ Come on, come on, come, come on, baby, now _

_ Come on and work it on out _

_ Well, work it on out _

_ You know you look so good _

_ You know you got me goin' now _

_ Just like I know you would _

Pennywise is bolstered by the excitement of the crowd and the sheer look on Angel’s face, the way she can’t keep her eyes off him and his on-screen antics. A small flash mob starts to form in a plaza and they mime the words too as they dance down a small flight of concrete steps. The entirety of the parade seems to have congregated around the float in a circle now; the parade-goers are all caught in their own rhythm, moving in different fashions but all in tandem at the same time as they sing along. And all the while Angel is staring, her heart pulsing restlessly inside of her, ignorant of the kids’ growing dissent amongst one another. 

_ Well, shake it up, baby, now _

_ Twist and shout _

_ Come on, come on, come, come on, baby, now _

_ Come on and work it on out _

_ You know you twist, little girl _

_ You know you twist so fine _

_ Come on and twist a little closer now _

_ And let me know that you're mine _

That feeling inside of her belly is only growing more and more as she watches him. The way he struts and sashays across the stage of the float, the way he performs so electrically that it riles up the whole crowd; she can hear the bells on his suit jingling with every one of his movements, the sound ringing in her ears as she fights to maintain some semblance of normalcy and composure. And all the while his eyes keep flickering back into hers, reminding her just who he was singing to, just who he was doing this all for. 

_ Who she belonged to. _

“Angel, tell Richie he’s being  _ fucking  _ ridiculous!” Eddie demands, and suddenly she snaps back into focus.

_ “You’re  _ the one who’s being ridiculous! Now you’re telling me you can use a fucking skip card on yourself?”

“Yeah, I figured if we’re all breaking rules, why not?”

“That just passes the draw twelve onto Bill! He doesn’t deserve that!”

“Oh, so I  _ do _ deserve it?”

“Guys, for the love of god,  _ shut up!” _ Angel practically roars, her assessment of the situation all suddenly caught up again.

They all fall quiet. She sighs a labored sigh and pinches the bridge of her nose. When she glances at the TV screen out of the corner of her eye, she notices the movie is back to normal. No Pennywise miming the words to  _ Twist and Shout, _ no saucy side glances or teasing little gestures, just Ferris amid the cheering parade crowd. She can’t feel his hands anymore either.

“You know guys,” She says with another heaving sigh. “It's getting late- I think you should probably be heading home after this game.”

“Okay but-”

“Richie, just take the damn loss and draw twelve, I’m not gonna watch you two bicker and argue for another three hours.”

He sulks.  _ “Fiiiiiine.” _ He draws his cards, angry cloud of chagrin palpable in a three foot radius around him.

The game continues. As they slowly make their way through the rest of the deck, Angel finds her thoughts wandering back to Pennywise; wondering where he had gone, if he might come back, finding that she missed him and his touch, not that it was at all surprising. The children have come to a stiff truce and are now quietly placing their cards into the center pile, leaving her to continue stewing over his whereabouts. To tell the truth, the sight of him was such a pleasant surprise that she’d gotten a little… Excited. She hadn’t seen him in days, had only kept correspondence with him through the gifts. He hadn’t even been talking to her all that much; the last time she’d heard his voice was on Tuesday as she had been drifting off to sleep, and though she hadn’t dreamt of him, she could still feel his presence keeping her warm throughout the night. But after that, nothing. If not for the gifts, she would have thought that he was abandoning her again, would have sent that familiar panicky dread roiling up in her gut at the idea of being left behind, but thankfully there was no such feeling of alienation. There was only this delicious feeling of want and desire, bubbling up inside of her as she watched him dance and perform; just for her, only for her, making her feel special. It was a feeling that only seemed to become more apparent as the days went on, this delightful little feeling that made her start to lose her grip on reality. She starts to get lost in that wonderful madness, vacantly placing cards into the pile with every turn, silently contemplating the scenario of his return and finding that a blush was starting to stain her cheeks again at the thought of him. His tall form, his striking eyes, those  _ massive _ hands; towering over her, looking into her, pinning her against the wall-

“Dirty, dirty,  _ naughty _ little girl.” His voice whispers directly in her ear. “You’ve got company over, you should control yourself.”

She almost gasps but she restrains herself. She can hear the smile in his voice, can almost see him wagging a finger at her.

“...Need to wait, little thing, need to be patient.” The phantom hands are back at her waist, slowly trailing down to rest at her hips again. Soft and gentle, comforting and sweet. It drives her mad.

“Reverse card. Angel, it’s your turn.”

Suddenly she’s not paying attention again. She’s whining silently, she’s screaming at him in her mind and that only seems to please him more. His voice evokes a shit-eating grin now. 

“Wouldn’t… Want to rush things, would we? No, no… We should take our time, we should savor it all…” 

Those hands are wandering lower, lower, ever so slightly…

“Angel?”

Her heart is thundering against her chest. She swallows hard, staring off into the space at her feet as she sits, rooted to the spot. He chuckles in her ear as he watches her squirm, clearly delighted at her embarrassment. _ “Orrrrrr…” _ He whispers. Her heart stops.

“Angel, are you okay?”

“Maybe... Just  _ maybe... _ We should throw all that caution to the wind, be bold,  _ adventurous.  _ Maybe I should just wait until they leave. Maybe I should wait until you’re all alone, and then I’ll come... I’ll back you up against the wall, corner you with no escape like a pretty little mouse. Tell me, would you like that?” His hand trails inward, his voice raspy and sonorous in her ear, and her breath hitches in her throat when it brushes up against the tender spot between her legs.

“How about it, pretty girl?”

_ How about it? _

“P-Pennywise…” She breathes. 

"Dude, she’s zoned out.”

_ “Angel!” _

She snaps out of it.

“What? What?” She’s pressing her hands to her hot cheeks.

“You spaced out.”

“Are you okay?”

“...What’s P-P-Pennywise?” 

She shakes her head quickly. “Sorry, I…” She finally processes the last question and feels her cheeks getting hotter again underneath her fingers. “Nothing, no one.” She clears her throat and thumbs through her hand, placing a red six into the center pile. But his voice is still there, calling to her, teasing her, needling her, just trying to get her to break.

“...Hey Angel,” he breathes huskily. “Wanna hear a poem I wrote for you? It goes like this- Roses are red, violets are fine, you be the six, and I’ll be the--”

Stop.  _ Stop. _ She tries her best to look normal now but she’s starting to sweat profusely. They continue in the game; there’s a palpable uneasiness settling over all of them but each and every one of them just tries to ignore it. Red nine, red four, blue four, blue skip; blue seven, green seven, wildcard yellow, draw four. Angel is trying her best to ignore him, ignore his little games and rhyming; ignore the pleasure building inside despite her greatest attempts to fight it off, ignore her embarrassment and the way she could feel them all staring at her. The day was long now and she wanted them to go so it could finally be over. She places down another card.

“Oh ho ho, I can see how flustered you are, darling! Poor girl,  _ poor little pet… _ Be careful now, they’re starting to worry…”

She’s so frustrated that she can hardly breathe. Her face feels like a furnace. She can’t even look them in the face now as she continues laying cards down into the middle of the pile; she can only keep her eyes rooted shamefully at her feet as she listens to the clock tick judgmentally overhead. The minutes crawl by at a snail’s pace, but thankfully the game is nearing its end. Pennywise continues his teasing though, content to torture Angel with his words and devilish sing-song as she fights to maintain her thinly-veiled facade. Stan appears to be pulling ahead, he’s about to call Uno but then-

_ “Pennywise and Angel sittin’ in a tree, F-U-C-K-I-N--” _

**_“OKAY!”_ ** She cries out suddenly. They all jump about ten feet off the ground. She immediately processes her outburst, and now she chokes, she struggles to explain herself. “It’s uh…. It’s getting late guys. I think,” She swallows. “Think you should all be getting home.”

“Jesus Christ, are you okay? Your face is on fuckin’ fire dude.”

“I’m fine!” She insists. “I’m just… Not feeling good. But I’ll be okay, I just need to sleep.”

“Angel-”

“Talk soon?”

She practically pushes them all out the door, and they leave behind a mess of Uno cards amid their protest. She reiterates that she’s fine and then they all hesitantly bid her goodbye from her stoop, further unnerved when she doesn’t even reply. She shuts the door, she takes a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth. All of his teasing had gotten to her more than she cared to admit; she couldn't help it, no one had ever shown her such attention before, especially not... _That_ kind of attention, not unless they were trying to be insulting. She found it facetious, vulgar in a way that was amusing and fun, though she'd be lying if she said the time and place could not have been any more inappropriate. The worries of what the kids must think is slowly seeping into her brain and she feels her face getting red all over again. What would they think if they... If they knew? It's not as though it were anything bad, she just... Wouldn't know how to explain any of it. How he had romanced her with all of his gifts, the way they'd met... The _things_ he was saying. Oh god. They were privy to a lot of dirty jokes, sure, (Lord knows Richie was incapable of working anything but blue) but she simply couldn't divulge such intimate details of her own romantic courtship like that, they had no business in it. She's sure they wouldn't understand anyway, that they might misconstrue his intentions and try to convince her that he was bad news or something. Children though they were, they were much more mature than most of the adults in this town, and they were not immune to being overprotective of her. She tries not to let her concerns get to her so much, not right now. Now, all she could do was simply splash cold water on her face, put all the Uno cards back where they came from, and leave this mortifying ordeal behind her. She takes another deep breath and sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose and rubbing her face tiredly. She counts to five and when she turns around she has to bite back a breathless shriek. 


	17. Together Again

“Jesus! Pennywise-”

“What’s the matter, darling? Are you not pleased to see me? I should think you are,  _ naughty girl,  _ with all those dirty thoughts running around inside your head.”

Her face flares up scarlet again. “I… Of  _ course _ I want to see you, I just…”

“...Wasn’t ready for all the mental gymnastics?” He strokes her cheek apologetically. “Oh dear, oh  _ dearie _ me… You’ll forgive ol’ Pennywise, won’t you? He was only trying to make you happy, was only trying to make you laugh… You know, like…  _ This.”  _ That hand drops to her stomach and gives it a devious tickle, and when she lets out a guffaw of helpless little giggles he shrieks with happy hyena laughter. 

“Yes, yes! Like that!” He says, practically singing, delighted to find her leaning into his touch rather than away from it. Despite all the teasing and pestering she’s just as pliant as ever, so desperate for warmth and affection and distraction from her problems that she responds to his manipulations with nothing less than outright joy. It pleases him to no end.

When he continues tickling her, she’s starting to lose her breath. “Stop, I, hahahah--  _ STOP!  _ Pennywise I---  _ What are you doing here?” _

He stops tickling her and lets her catch up. She gulps down air, gasping as she struggles to stay upright. He knew he couldn’t let it go too far- she had asthma. Not the kind like that annoying little brat with the inhaler, but the kind that sent her into coughing fits if there was too much stress on her lungs. No, he needed to be careful, needed to take care of her. Pennywise makes a path for her and leads her to the couch so she can sit down, smoothing a hand down her hair comfortingly as he does so. She sits and looks up at him with tears of laughter in her eyes, wiping them away with a cough. He gets down on bended knee to take her hands in his, and yet even in such a position, he still towers over her. His eyes are golden starlight staring down into hers, earnest and passionate.

“I couldn’t bear to be away from you for another  _ second,  _ my girl. Pennywise needed to come, needed to see his precious Angel with his own two eyes. And what a sight you are for him…” He runs a silken thumb over hers with a sigh. “Tell me… Are you as happy to see him as he is to see you?”

She chokes on her captivation, a dopey smile starting to creep across her face. “Of… Of  _ course  _ I am.” She squeezes his hands and he appears grateful for the reciprocated gesture. The tape is still playing behind them, the credits of  _ Ferris Bueller  _ serving as a backdrop for their clearly romantic moment. Pennywise appears to process this, and on the shadows of his face she can see a grin start to form there.

“...Did you like my performance, pretty girl? I thought I looked pretty good up there on that parade float.”

She starts to burst out laughing again, and the sound of it is music to his ears. “...I c-couldn’t believe what I was seeing! I… I didn’t know that you could do that!”

“Well, they don’t call me the Dancing Clown for nothing, sweetness.”

“Not  _ that, _ I meant-” She gestures to the screen behind them. “The movie, you just… Made yourself a part of it. I didn’t know you could do that, it was fucking  _ insane.” _

He leans down closer to her face and her heart races. “...I told you I was full of surprises, didn’t I?”

“Well yeah, but,  _ oh!~” _

He pulls her to her feet all of a sudden and she cries out when she almost loses balance. But his hands are there to keep her upright and she clings to them for dear life. He holds her steady in his arms, his gaze doesn’t falter.

“I think you’ll be pleased to learn just how much I can do, Angel.” He whispers huskily. She falls silent, her eyes telling the tale of how spellbound, how enraptured she is now in this moment, simply unable to speak as that tingling warmth starts to coil in her belly once more. “Yes…” He tucks a strand of wayward hair behind her ear, and then his hand cups her cheek, resting gently there at the slope of her jaw. “I think you’ll come to find that I can offer you  _ more _ than you knew you ever wanted… The entire world, if you so desire it…”

“...The entire world…?” She repeats back to him, dizzy and lovesick.

He stares back into her eyes, truly in love with the way they twinkle like water from a rich mossy brook. “Yes…” They’re both silent for a time in each other’s arms, the tension, the chemicals clearly there between them but neither one will make a move. “Yes…” He pulls back a little, and her heart sinks ever so slightly. “...But we’re getting ahead of ourselves, dear pet. Like I said, we should take our time, take things  _ slooooooow…” _ He starts to sway her ever so gently in his arms and she giggles. They both stop again and he looks down at her.

“...Do  _ you  _ know how to dance, Angel?” He asks her.

Her face slightly flushes at the question. “I-Well.. I used to take dance when I was a little girl, but I… I haven’t practiced in years, so… No.” 

“Well then…” He says, his voice deep and sultry. “Maybe I’ll just have to teach you.”

He hadn’t taught her that night. No, Angel found she was much too tired to absorb anything new, regardless of how electrified she was at Pennywise’s reappearance, so he’d simply taken her to the haven of her bed, pulled back the covers, deposited her gently onto the mattress and joined her there, holding her so gently and sweetly until her eyes had grown heavy and she’d fallen asleep. He hadn’t tried anything. No- now was not the time for such things. He knew he needed to be patient, needed to hold himself back until it drove her mad. He wouldn’t even kiss her, not yet, not when a such crucial juncture in their relationship was still ahead, one that needed to be handled with the utmost of care. He knew that he needed to be careful- as much as she was leaning headfirst into all of his attentions, she was still, after all, a human girl, and a compassionate one at that. Once she learned who he was, who he _truly_ was, things could go one of two ways; she would either turn away from him completely, or she would justify his actions and stay with him. Though he had ways to make her come around to the idea regardless of any opposition, he hoped and planned for the latter. He knew it to be entirely plausible; she had, after all, done such a thing in the past following his disposal of that shopkeeper. She hadn’t known for sure that it was him but she had certainly entertained the possibility, and even still she found herself slowly starting to rationalize such a heinous act, though she might never dare to admit it. Loving and tenderhearted though she was, he knew there was a darkness inside of her, a dormant darkness just waiting to be awakened. She was his counterpart, she was his other half. She was caring; she was a human side to his untamed monster, but she was not without that untamed monster tainting the honeyed sweetness within. He just needed to rouse it from slumber.

He hadn’t taught her that night, or the night after that, or the night after that. He had, however, been coming back to visit on an increasingly more regular basis much to her delight. He would usually come in the afternoons to evenings. She would come home from work, worn out after a long day, and find him waiting for her in her living room. She had reacted to a lot of his manifestations at first with surprise- pleasant surprise, albeit- but surprise nonetheless. After a time, however, just as with the gifts, she had become in tune to a certain pattern of behavior which she could use to anticipate him. This came when she wouldn’t hear anything from him in a while; that is, she wouldn’t hear his voice when she woke up in the morning, wouldn’t feel eyes lingering on her while she was getting dressed or while she was in the shower or the light tremor under her feet when she acknowledged his presence with teasing displays. Wouldn’t hear him talking in her ear as she walked her commute or as she worked her shift. No, he would be strangely absent apart from the occasional gift, a gesture she knew to be his own subtle way of informing her that he was, in fact, still there with her, that he hadn’t abandoned her, that she wasn’t alone in the big, bad town of Derry, even as the looming threat of disappearances was still hanging over everyone’s heads. And then, one day, usually three to four after his apparent vanishment, she would come through the door and be greeted by sweeping touches, peppered kisses on her cheek or on her neck and she would _melt,_ would breathe it all in wholeheartedly and welcome him back into her arms.

Angel adored the attention, Angel was hypnotized by it. It was energizing, it was revitalizing in a way she couldn’t put words to. Ever since Georgie’s disappearance, she was slowly finding herself at a growing decline. Work was no longer exciting, hadn't been for a long time; it was simply another routine she had become disenchanted with. Living alone was suddenly more than she could handle with grace, a problem she wished she could say she was encountering for the first time, but it was, in fact, something she had grappled with in the past. It was true, living alone had gotten easier with the Derry Public Library, but that meant almost nothing with the onset of another bad depression funk, which she knew was coming. She could see it from a mile away but she was virtually powerless to stop it, almost immobilized as she saw the dark cloud draw nearer and ascend over her head like a death knell. Suddenly she had felt sluggish, could hardly muster the strength to get out of bed every morning and continue with her daily obligations. Couldn’t eat, couldn’t take care of herself properly. When he had first come along, it was no different. He was simply an escape, just another coping mechanism. She felt herself becoming obsessed, could feel herself slipping headlong into another fixation, an escape from dull and wearisome reality. It brought her happiness but there was something missing from it all. That something had come to her on Valentine’s Day, when she finally felt his touch for the first time and suddenly, so suddenly, it had all become real.

And how real it all was now. She could hardly believe it, the way her dreams had come true. It was almost like a fairytale, with him the dashing prince and her the elegant princess being swept off her feet. It was all so deliciously idealistic and wonderful, she wanted more than anything for it to last forever because she had… Never felt so special before. Pennywise made her feel special. From the beginning, he had been nothing but kind and chivalrous, giving and generous to her. Protective and gallant, coming to her rescue on multiple occasions whether it be a physical threat or her own feelings trying to kill her from the inside out. The way he spoke of her, the way he touched her… No one had ever done that before. It all felt so perfect, and it was addicting. It was starting to make her blind to all her problems, like they all simply didn’t matter so long as he was there with her. She had even started to get a little better as his visits continued.

It had all started slowly after Valentine’s Day. Though Angel was by no means an ingrate to Pennywise’s vocal support and encouragement of her, she was nonetheless still despondent on almost a day to day basis. She was still having difficulties getting out of bed, even as he sang to her and urged her to slip from the covers with a smile on her face (“Rise and shine, my sweet little bird, it’s time for you to get up and face the day!”), was still having trouble with keeping up hygiene and eating correctly even as Pennywise bolstered her to make better decisions and take better care of herself. Even as she continued to gain weight from poor dietary decisions, he was still supportive and kind; he complimented her, commented on how cute she was, how beautiful, and showed open and enthusiastic attraction to her and her body, often while she was getting dressed or showering (“Your curves are so ravishing, darling; you look like a precious work of art”), phantom hands grasping her as he did so. Would deal with her intrusive thoughts as he lulled her to sleep, singing the same lullaby each and every night (“Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St. Clements,”). But as time went on and the weeks passed, as Pennywise had begun visiting her in person and giving her reason to be bigger than the challenges she faced, she found herself finding purpose among the grit once more. She was becoming a little happier again.

Along the way, he had reinvigorated her love for the arts again too. Angel was an artistic girl, always had been, but her depression often had a way of snuffing the flame of inspiration anytime it had started to thrive and burn. Throughout the years, she lived through a tiring cycle. She would spend months and months in a slump, in some kind of creative limbo, she would dread the idea of picking up a pencil, couldn’t muster a single idea to put onto the paper, be it in the form of art or written word. She would spend such time agonizing over her lack of productivity, and then suddenly, it would all come back to her again like a lightbulb being switched on in her brain. A flood of motivation would come to her, and she would revel in an artistic renaissance once more. She would inevitably fall back into another slump just as quickly as it had gone, but in the meantime she tried her best to take advantage of the manic period that had come to her like a blessing, a bombshell of efficiency she would do well not to waste. She would make all manner of things during these times, mostly morbid art she wouldn’t dare show anyone (that, like most things, had been mostly beaten out of her over the years), mostly of characters she’d conjured out of her own imagination; she would sing, she would cook, she would write. And sometimes, sometimes, she would play. 

Angel was a musician. She had started in the 4th grade, had inherited a trumpet from her grandfather, who had passed it down to her father before her. It was a 1920 H.N White King Liberty model with a silver bell, and she’d grown up treasuring it throughout her entire adolescence. She was quite good too; she’d had something of a natural talent for it, having been born with musical blood and all on both her mother and her father’s side (mom had played cello, and was damn good at it as well). She’d gone from playing the ever obligatory Hot Cross Buns to complicated concert etudes over the course of her childhood, had achieved first chair consistently and was even drafted for honor band ensembles a couple times. When she’d gotten to high school she’d only improved, had taken up marching, jazz and concert band for her elective classes. Derry High School was by no means prodigious or impressive in any regard when it came to their musical department, but she took it all in stride anyway, thriving in a performative setting whether it be a marching band competition or improvisational soloing in jazz. It was one of many of her hobbies that she exploited to chase that ever elusive feeling, the feeling of being special.

Pennywise had already known all this about Angel, but he thought it best to feign ignorance of her past for the time being, choosing instead to “learn” things about her naturally throughout the course of many conversations with her; all in an excuse to engage, to build their chemistry organically. His omniscience was something he felt he could let her find out about in time. Though she was more than aware of his otherworldly existence at this point, he didn’t want to risk freaking her out too much with things she wouldn’t yet be able to understand. So instead, he talked to her. He asked her questions; he was interested in what she had to say, because she was, after all, a very interesting person, though she would hardly ever give herself due credit for that. She would tell him things about herself, would regale him with stories about her childhood and her years as a teenager, all her trials and tribulations, her pitfalls, her various mishaps and misadventures. She would even ask him questions on occasion, like where he had come from, what the extent of his power was, why he had chosen her, but his answers were mostly cryptic and indirect (“A place far beyond all this, little one”, “More than you can possibly imagine, dearest,” “How could I have chosen what was made especially for me, precious?”); they frankly seemed to inspire more mysteries than they had solved but she thought it best not to needle him too much. She was sure it would all come in time.

So Pennywise had begun with encouraging her art. Would appear over her shoulder or whisper in her ear, telling her little things, little details about things that she was drawing that he particularly liked or found fascinating. He praised her creativity and the macabre nature of her work; asked her things about her characters, requests for knowledge which she was all too happy to oblige. He liked her inkwork, found it bold and rich and thorough, evocative of her distinctive style. He would tell her as much, and enjoyed the blush on her face at every compliment, each boost to her self-worth that she so desperately needed. She was so shy, and had started out mostly unreceptive to his admiration, but in time he had built her up to accept it with meek appreciation, a far cry better than the self-deprecation of before. It wasn’t much, but he would take what victories he could get. One way or another, she would come to see how special she was. He would see to it.

Praising one hobby had progressed onto praising the next, and the next after that. Pennywise had never had much of a taste for human food, but he could tell that Angel clearly had a knack for cooking that was not to be overlooked, and he would laud her creations with enthusiasm. He read the things she wrote and spoke favorably of the strong sense of voice in her words, the way he could feel her personality, could see it bleeding from the pages. And then finally, he had come in on her one day while she was playing her trumpet. She’d picked it up again on a whim one afternoon after work; truth be told, she’d let it slip to the wayside out of self-consciousness after one too many harsh complaints from the neighbors, as while she could shake off their ire at the volume of her punk records, she could stomach less the idea that her playing was too offensive to the ears to be heard. So she’d stopped, and hadn’t played for about a couple years or so, letting her hard-earned range and technique from years of playing dwindle into rust. But now, in the presence of Pennywise and the respite from her problems and insecurities that he brought, she had felt a little inspired to pick back up from where she had left off. She had started out incredibly awkward in her articulations, and it had been a little embarrassing when he would walk in on her fumbling with the valves but this, like all things, was not something Pennywise would react to with disdain or derision. No, he was nothing but sweet and supportive, and in less than a week she was back to tackling improvisation, her favorite part of jazz which was, by a landslide, her elective of choice back in her school days.

And then it had only naturally progressed from there. Once she had gotten her technique back and was improvising once more, she’d started playing her jazz records again. This was different from her hardcore records, they were emotional and full of soul in a different way. She liked the classics, mostly big band acts, and had a modest collection of them on vinyl; Count Basie, Glenn Miller, Duke Ellington, Miles Davis, and Dizzy Gillespie were just some of the big names she admired. She liked to play along as much as she could. She admittedly wasn’t the best when it came to playing by ear but if given time and room for studious contemplation she could discern the notes and write down tabs for them. Pennywise loved to come listen to her play; liked to dance for her when she did, most often doing the Charleston or the Twist, would make her crack up laughing in the middle of her performances as he would shimmy and jive about the living room. It was so strange and so delightful, and though Angel had seen bright spots before in her life, they were nothing at all like this somehow. 

The days had continued just like this, with Pennywise leaving her gifts, Pennywise talking to her almost every day, coming to visit her when he didn’t and delighting her with his presence every time. Her favorite days were the days they talked, the days they spent lazing away on the couch together, the days she played for him, the days they laughed _._ Even her worst days were bearable with him around to take care of her, and things didn’t seem to be so bad when all he needed to do was take her in his arms and tell her that everything was going to be okay. All it took was one simple embrace and suddenly it all didn’t matter, none of it did. His voice was like a balm to her soul, the sweetest lullaby that soothed her to sleep like a resting babe, could have her out like a light within minutes. His stare was almost the same, in a sense. When she looked into his eyes, she felt something patently unlike anything she had ever felt before. It was like a siren song, calling to her from someplace unknown, someplace far beyond her understanding and it made her so warm, it almost made her burn inside with something mad, something dizzying that had her stumbling, flitting towards it helplessly like a moth drawn to flame. Though it would have her losing consciousness every time, she found herself addicted to the sensation, so enamored with his stare that she simply couldn’t help herself.

Pennywise could not be more pleased at the natural progression of their relationship so far. When all of this had started, when he had first awoken from his great twenty-seven year sleep and come to detect her deliciously fragrant aura fanning over his senses like a delicate perfume, he had expected an uphill battle, had expected her to react to his interactions with confusion at best and outright horror at worst. Though he dared not think on it, some small part of him feared the latter, feared that she might shy away from him, ignore him, spurn him. It was a part of Pennywise that was irrational and free of complex thought, and that part of him stirred with unease at the idea that she might move on without him, find some other stupid, silly human to mate with and give all her love and attention to. That he might have to do things the hard way and rip her from their arms kicking and screaming, taking her unwilling to the bowels beneath Derry where they would stay together for years. No, he did not want that. It was an unsavory end to eons spent in pining and anticipation, and he was better than that, was greater than to let some mere mortal stand in the way of destiny and fate. It was an unreasonable notion anyway, he knew it to be so. He was sure that the very same fate and destiny that had given him such a gift had seen fit to guarantee his eventual conquest for, after all, she’d already come so far in her life without courting another human soul. Her perceived undesirability to the others, her status as a social pariah in the town was simply insurance to his ends, a way to keep her isolated from all those who weren’t worthy.

And yet here she was, flitting eagerly towards him and his ploys to bring them closer together; accepting his gifts, his love and attention without a second thought, and all because she had never in her life been shown the time of day before. How lonely she had always been, overlooked and neglected by most everyone in her life for years; the kid picked last in gym, the third wheel to everyone’s shallow little relationships, the shy girl afraid to truly speak up for herself for fear of alienating herself even further. She might have put on a brave face throughout her childhood, pretended to be hardened and impervious to the hurtful words and actions of others, but he knew better. He knew who she was, who she truly was, and he knew how fragile her ego and sense of self worth really was, even if she pretended otherwise with her loud sense of fashion and boisterous sense of humor. His focus, his recognition and interest, it was the sweetest candy in existence to her and he knew she was so starved for it that she would do little else but gobble it all up as it came to her, as he offered it with a gracefully gentle silken hand. And with every single piece she would be further hypnotized, letting the saccharine poison linger on her tongue until it was the only taste in existence she craved. And her attention, in turn, was something he craved so terribly that it was almost an ache, an emptiness in his eldritch soul. He wanted to occupy her mind so completely, wanted to be her central preoccupation in everything. He wanted her to love him more than anyone or anything else on this disgusting little planet. He wanted to possess her completely and utterly in mind and body, and be the only thing she would ever truly care about. He wanted her. All of her.

And it would seem he was well on his way to having her, if the past few weeks were any indication. He loved being with her, and he loved how delighted she always was to see him. She’d started out so shy and closed off to his compliments, would always either refuse them or angle her face to the floor in embarrassment whenever he praised her. He’d needed to work on that. No, no mate of his would be so unsure of their worth and value, so doubtful and hesitant to acknowledge their own precious merit. It was an honor in itself to be intertwined with him in such a fashion; to be destined to a creature so great as himself made her a priceless little trifle, and she needed to know just how priceless she was. He would stop at nothing until she knew, and thankfully he was making great headway as of late. She was starting to write again, to make more of her precious art, was spending hours in the kitchen just slaving away to make things just for his delight and appraisal. She needn’t know that he sated his palate on things of a different nature, not yet at least. In the meantime he was content to try her creations with cloying enthusiasm, building her up with passionate admiration for her efforts and leaving her just a little more bound to him, more prone to hinging on his every word. And the days she had started playing that darling little trumpet of hers were his favorite. Her soul came out the most when she was playing her music; she would get so lost in it that he could just see all the dormant exuberance and vivacity inside, just begging to see release. The way her eyes would close while she was improvising, the way the voice of her horn would rise and fall with each note, the way her hips would sway with each resonant refrain... The music was simply a channel, a conduit with which she could soar to heights that truly suited her, the only worthy counterpart to him, the insidiously wicked beast of Derry.

And as the frigid days of winter slowly melted into the fresh dew of spring, a special occasion was appearing over the horizon. Calendar days of March flitted off into the wind until April had slowly come of age, and Pennywise could see as the days progressed how Angel stewed with stirring anticipation of a sort. Her birthday was coming, and he knew it, though he wouldn’t admit as much to her. No, he wanted that to come as a surprise. He knew that Angel’s birthday, much like most other occasions in her life, was little more than an annual disappointment. With little money and even less friends around to celebrate the affair, it was often something Angel looked to swallow quickly so she could move on and continue life as usual. Though her birthdays were never distinctly bad, they were nonetheless patently unremarkable events. The only noteworthy milestone in age was that of her 21st birthday, as now she could at least drown her sorrows in alcohol whenever she felt the urge to do so. It was rather lucky indeed that that particular urge hadn’t possessed her as of this current depression spiral, though she’d be lying if she said it hadn’t started to become tempting before Pennywise had introduced himself. With all of this in mind, he had been thinking of ways to commemorate the event. He could feel how antsy, could taste on his tongue how restless she was. With all the late night visits, all the teasing and the heavy petting, he knew that she wanted more from him. It was plainly obvious, even if she hadn’t any idea just how obvious it was. He knew her to be desperate for something of more substance, but he couldn’t take her, couldn’t even kiss her just yet, even if some deep, dark part of the recesses of her mind yearned impatiently for it. No, better to save such things for crucial junctures in their relationship, when she was much more likely to reject him in the wake of unsavory discoveries. He intended to weaponize his advances, and introduce them only when necessary, when it would benefit him most. The time to lavish her with pleasure and ecstasy would come, he just needed to be patient and dangle the spoils just frustratingly out of her reach.

In the meantime, however, he needed to draw her in more, and he knew this to be a ripe opportunity to do so. He’d started to prepare some weeks in advance, planning and plotting a simple romantic evening that would have her eating right out of his hand. He’d already laid the groundwork for the night to come, and he would come to her with a modest but elegant gift, meaningful and significant in its intent to draw her in. He would entice and seduce her with his charms, would hold her close and taste the delicious wanton desire, and follow through on a promise from before. He would orchestrate the tension between them and intentionally let it fall short, would leave her frustrated from the lack of resolution, leave her wanting more than ever before. But he wouldn’t indulge it, not now. Despite his own primal desire and lust, he would hold himself back, because now wasn’t the time. No, no, not when there was so much yet to be done. He wanted so badly to take her, and he loved to see her pine for him in turn, but now wasn’t the time.

And on the day of the 17th, he’d planned to make his move. He woke her up as he often did, had watched her shower and dress for the day, had seen her out of the house and talked to her normally, plainly and unassumingly as though he had no idea what the special occasion was. She hadn’t told him, was too shy to do so, so she’d simply kept her mouth shut and continued on with her day. And what a hellish day it had gradually turned out to be. It started when she came to clock in for work; the commute had taken a little longer than usual due to an unusual surplus of traffic, and the librarian had given her what for as a result. She became sheepish and jittery, taking to the front desk with the intent to forget it but finding that she kept reflecting on her chastisement with embarrassment through the hours. She kept stuttering when talking to the patrons, had stumbled on her words on more than one occasion, so she had increasingly fallen silent after a number of mortifying social blunders. How she wished for Pennywise to whisper in her ear as he often did, offer her encouragement and counsel for all her trouble, but no, he seemed strangely absent on this day. She figured he had other things to attend to; he sometimes did, and she didn’t pry into his dealings, but she often found herself disappointed as a result. She at least hoped to find a gift for the day, an offering that she might delude herself into thinking was a present for her special occasion, but no such luck even as she clocked out and took her lunch break, the time she would usually stumble on such a prize. Lunch was an ordeal all its own; on her way out to the town monument she’d stepped in an errant pile of dog shit, and no amount of scraping and scuffing would get it completely off the bottom of her shoe. She’d found that the apple in her lunch box had a spot of mold on it, rendering it inedible, and as she ate her sandwich she was met with an unfortunate mustard stain on her blouse. Trying to wash it off in the sink only seemed to make it worse somehow, and as she bungled through the rest of her shift she found herself increasingly disheartened. 

The Losers had come over the weekend before to celebrate, but it had turned out to be little more than the same proceedings as always. She would welcome them in, they would take to her couch to talk about school and the Bowers gang, catch up a little, they might take in a movie of some kind, a VHS off Angel’s bookshelf; Bill would be mostly silent as a result of his ever-present grief, Eddie and Richie would bicker with Stan sometimes snarkily interjecting, Angel would have to intervene and break them up. It was a cycle she admittedly grew tired of sometimes, as much as she loved them all, and as time wore on she found herself getting exhausted at their presence, so she’d sent them home after some hours spent horsing around. She felt a little guilty for feeling the way that she did, but she could hardly help it; call her jaded, but she was increasingly fatigued at having to always be the adult in these situations. Though she’d always dreamt of having children, it was nonetheless overwhelming to be in charge of four of them at once a lot of the time. It was times like these she really wished their parents would take a more hands on approach with their kids, but she knew they likely wouldn’t care enough to do such a thing. No, as much as Angel sometimes resented it, she was big sister to them all for better or for worse. In times like these, it was definitely for the latter, though she would never dare admit it.

So she’d finished work for the day, had finished clean up and finally clocked out, then began her walk home. Her legs were spent from being on her feet all day, and she simply wanted to go home and take a nap so she could bring herself from one dull day into the next. Maybe the next day she might see Pennywise, or at the very least hear from him again. She always held out for the possibility, had always looked forward to it, to that warm feeling she’d feel coursing through her as the precursor to his inevitable manifestation. The walk home was surprisingly uneventful, no blunders to worsen the day, but on the flip side of the coin, she hadn’t found any gifts either. No little trifles poking out of crevices on the ground, nothing dangling innocently off a tree branch for her discovery. No, he was simply absent in every sense of the word, and on this day in particular she found that especially disappointing. She wanted more than anything to see him, wanted to look on his ethereal visage with the same moonstruck gaze as always, the one that always crept across her face when she found him waiting for her, expecting her. His fiery hair, his gorgeous eyes, his striking makeup and elegant silken suit; he was truly beautiful in every sense of the word. That he had chosen her still baffled her beyond all measure, but she had gone past the stages of questioning it. If what he said was true, after all, choice had nothing to do with it. It was, as he said, destiny, and having seen what she had seen over the course of this year, she was somewhat inclined to believe it, as ridiculous as it all sounded. As much as she wanted to put this entire day behind her, she also wanted more than anything to tell him about her day, to confess how much this day meant to her in the hopes that he might do something about it, might make it up to her in a way that only he could. _Fat chance_ , she thinks wistfully, and she fishes out her key ring to swing open the front door. When she steps inside, however, she hears the familiar lilt of his voice, and she looks up, startled.

“Happy birthday, my sweet.”

She’s taken aback by the display in front of her. Candles everywhere, lighting up the dark room. The soft glow of the flames make it all seem unreal. Candy red balloons bob and float carelessly about the ceiling, the strings dangling down like gossamer spider thread. There’s a familiar scent in the air and she knows that it’s him, the cloying scent of a traveling carnival, rich and unearthly and eternal. And he’s there in the middle of it all, his face lit up by the luminous display all around him, simply waiting for her arrival. He carries a box in his hands, one simple and tasteful in its wrapping, with a red bow affixed to the top. She drops her bag on the floor, stunned and speechless. He beckons her forward with a smile.

“Come to Pennywise, my pet, he has something to give you.”

“P-Pennywise, I-”

“ _ Shhhhhh,  _ don’t question it. Just come here.”

She feels a shiver run up her spine at the gentleness of his voice, so wonderfully seductive and sensuous in tone. Her legs move of their own accord, simply propelled forward by her wordless elation. She resists the urge to run. She comes to him and with the box in one hand he carefully takes her by the hand and guides her to the couch.

“Sit down, darling.” 

She complies and with a tender exchange he hands her the box. She gives him a silent look of gratitude and numbly begins to unwrap it. She undoes the bow and sets the ribbon aside, and she tears away the wrapping paper with cautious consideration. Waiting inside is a vanity box of some kind, and when she opens it up her breath hitches in her throat.

_ Oranges and lemons _

_ Say the bells of St. Clements _

_ You owe me five farthings _

_ Say the Bells of St. Martins _

The box sings a delicate lullaby melody in the form of pinstruck notes on the tuned teeth of a steel comb. It’s a music box warbling the refrain of  _ Oranges and Lemons _ , the familiar cradlesong he had used to lull her to sleep so many times before. In the center of it sits a ceramic clown, poised in an elegant pirouette, and it spins slowly to the tune. Tears start to prickle in her eyes.

“Pennywise, I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Open the middle drawer.” He whispers.

When she does so, she finds something waiting inside, a familiar sight she had looked on with fascination so many times before, a feature she had so always admired. Suddenly, she realizes something missing from the sleeve of his right arm, and she takes the trifle out of the box to examine it in the lucent candlelight. It jingles softly as she holds it up. It’s one of the bells from his suit, attached to a simple golden necklace, and as she looks on it with wonder she starts to melt. He reaches down to stroke her cheek fondly.

“...This way I can always be with you, even when I’m far away. Come, darling, turn around so I can put it on you.”

She obeys him in her stupefied daze, and she shudders with breathless exhilaration when those silken hands brush up against her neck. He sweeps her hair out of the way and fastens the clasp around her neck, his touch tickling ever so slightly when it lingers on her collarbone. The necklace hangs tastefully about her throat, and when he brushes her hair from her shoulders to her back again he leans forward to whisper in her ear.

“Come with me.” It’s such a simple and dominant request, and she feels the coil in her belly start to flare up as he gets up and extends a hand to her. She takes it again and he pulls her up off the couch.

“Do you know how to foxtrot, my dear?”

She’s caught off guard by the question and, suddenly, memories of one of their earlier conversations comes flooding back to her. 

“N-no, I don’t… I don’t think so.”

The record player speaks up now, starting to play a pleasant tune. She recognizes it, a track from one of her favorite movies. It’s ghostly and beautiful and she shivers when she hears it, a light piano melody that segues into a comforting horn refrain. It’s  _ Midnight with the Stars and You,  _ courtesy of Ray Noble and his orchestra. 

“Come. It’s easy, I’ll show you…”

He takes her to the vacant space of the dining room, and all she can do is simply follow behind him. The candlelight with the music is intoxicating, and the scent of his presence only works to hypnotize her even more. He leads her with one hand and as he turns to face her he simply towers over her, a creature that might be intimidating to anyone else but not to her, never to her. The way he looks down into her eyes so fondly is spellbinding, staring into her like she was the most exquisite little thing in the world, something rare to be loved and cherished. She feels small just then, not in a way that was degrading or in any way demeaning, but just because he feels like the entire universe in that moment; unfathomably big and all-encompassing and, most of all, warm. She can’t breathe.

“Keep your left hand… Here.” He purrs, repositioning her fingers delicately on the broad slope of his shoulder. “...And your other hand here in mine.” She giggles bashfully and he grins. “Now,” He says, his stare unwavering. “Watch, keep your lovely hazel eyes on me.” He demonstrates a few gentle twists and turns and she’s simply swept along for the ride, her feet gliding along with his and matching his canter, if a bit clumsily. They move about the room in fluid motion, coming back and forth, to and fro, in a seductive circle that has Angel overcome with dizziness. She tries her best to obey his wordless commands, timid and insecure in her movements. He can see how shy and embarrassed she is and he’s just as gentle as ever, using his feet and his grip on her hand to guide her.

“Yes, follow my lead, sweetheart. It’s so easy…”

_ Midnight with the stars and you _

_ Midnight and a rendezvous _

_ Your eyes held a message tender _

_ Saying "I surrender all my love to you… _

He takes her into a soothing back and forth sway and she moves with him, letting him lead the way, letting him take her wherever he pleases. The tension between them is inescapable, it does nothing but emphasize the growing heat in the room. She starts to get the hang of it in time, though her form is still ungainly and unsure. She missteps and breaks out into flustered laughter, angling her red face to the floor in an effort to avoid any imagined judgment. His hand leaves her hip for just a second and he tilts her chin up to look at him again. 

"No no no, pretty girl, eyes up here. I want you to look at Pennywise, nothing would bring him greater joy..." 

She squeaks and nods, squeezing his hand reflexively. He squeezes back, fixing her with a reassuring gaze as they start to move again. 

"That's it…  _ Thaaaat's _ it. Oh, you're doing so good… My good, precious, _ talented  _ little Angel…" 

“Am I…Am I doing this right..?” She asks him, her voice quiet, her tone unsure. She drums the fingers of her left hand nervously on his shoulder. Her movements are tentative and cautious, but still he smiles at her. “I… Told you I used to take dance when I was little, but I’m afraid I lost any ounce of grace or poise I might have had before. I, hahaha… I feel like a cat on ice.” 

“You’re like a perfect little ballerina.” He whispers decadently.

She flushes. “You think so?”

“I know so, precious. Look at you, learning so fast…”

He twirls her away from him with one hand and she yelps when she comes colliding back into his chest. She looks up at him with stars in her eyes, breathless and gasping. He looks down at her with a coy grin, enjoying her captivation, so easy to secure and yet so delicious to savor. He holds her close, their bodies pressed together, not tightly, but just enough to create friction. She picks it up more and more with each step, pensive though she was, and as they move and sashay about the room with one another her movements gradually become more graceful.

_ Midnight brought us sweet romance _

_ I know all my whole life through _

_ I'll be remembering you _

_ Whatever else I do _

He looks down at her as he looms above, tall and imposing. But despite it all she’s not afraid. No, she’s never afraid with him, never more than simply enchanted with his presence and taken with the way he looks at her, the way his eyes glint so splendidly with torrid passion at the mere sight of her face. All it takes is a few seconds of tension and she finds herself getting hung up on those eyes, his hair, his perfect red-capped nose… His lips…

_ Midnight with the stars and you… _

Her heartbeat starts to move faster in her chest as he stares down into her. The way they still move together is captivating, their feet fluid as they circle elegantly around the room in each other’s arms. He’s chasing her, leading her into a corner and all she can do is let it happen. She wants it, needs it to happen more than anything else in the world, more than anything in this very moment, and as the walls are closing in around them they get ever closer to that final end. He’s leaning in close, she starts to part her lips-

Reeee _ EEEORRRWH!! _

“FUCK!”

In just a second, all tension is gone from the room. Angel trips clumsily over Mayor Jello and almost goes sprawling backward to the floor. Pennywise is quick, though, and catches her in his arms, setting her upright in his hold again. He savors the feeling of her clinging to his chest and the way she heaves in air through her own, gasping and panting and out of breath. She starts to giggle hysterically into the silk, wiping away tears of joy as she looks up at him again.

“Are you alright, my sweet?”

“Yeah, y-yeah I…” She laughs. “Good thing you caught me, I almost ate shit.” 

She hugs him tight, and he hugs her back, the both of them laughing, sharing in the joy together. They don’t kiss.


	18. The Bubble

Slowly but surely, April became May. Spring began to flourish within the town in the form of light breezes and fragrant flowers, and just as the local flora thrived and prospered, so did the relationship between Angel and Pennywise. His visits had become as regular and routine as the days of her full-time job, and she could not be happier for it. It was almost like a fairytale; Angel would wake to his voice in her ear, she would slip out of bed and get ready for work. She would walk to the library, would feel the warmth of his hand enveloping her own along the way; she would work her shift, she would sometimes encounter him waiting for her when she took her breaks. He would talk to her and make her laugh, he would promise to come back to her when her shift was over. She would spend the rest of the day waiting with bated breath for her shift to finally be done, and then as soon as the clock struck five she would punch out and hurry home, not so much for the sake of safety anymore as much as for her own breathless excitement. While she waited for him to return from wherever he had wandered off to, she sometimes wondered just what he did in his free time when he wasn’t making his visits. She wondered more than ever just what he was, who he was, and who _ she _ was by extension. She tried not to let those thoughts get to her too much though; she was enjoying all of this far too much to be of rational mind now. They were in a perfect little bubble together, and she wanted more than anything for it not to pop. And then, just as her mind would start to drift off…

“Hello, my darling.” He would say in a low, gentle tone, often behind her.

“Pennywise!” You could always hear the smile, the unabashed glee in her voice. She would immediately stop what she was doing to turn around and hug him. Time would stop as they both embraced each other, Angel pulling him toward her as tightly as possible, letting all worry and trouble melt away from her flesh with the feeling of silver silk within her fingers. Pennywise, in turn, would return the gesture with a protective sweep of his hands around her back, would feel her shivering ever so gently against him out of relief, out of excitement to see him again. He would relish in it, the taste and scent of her joy, just how trusting she was of him, an entity whose origins and history she truly knew nothing about, yet she willingly gave herself to his care anyway. How delicious it was to savor, the secure knowledge in that she was growing increasingly more accustomed to his presence, was even starting to crave it and yearn for it. He would pet her hair, a silken hand brushing elegantly down the chestnut locks that fall over her shoulders and he would hum, would always sing the same song with throaty vibrations that would echo deliciously through her body.

_ Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St. Clements… _

“How was the rest of your day, sweetheart?” He would always ask when they pulled away from each other.

Angel always dreaded that, the end of the hug. He always felt so warm; the sensation of that familiar warmth traveling through her body was addicting. She would spend what felt like an eternity just clinging to him, treasuring the feeling of him, so real and tangible that she could sometimes hardly believe it. Ever since that fateful night on Valentine’s Day, Angel had spent every day afterward in complete and utter bewilderment at his presence. Everything from his repeated manifestations to his supernatural behavior had her in a befuddled stir; she almost felt the need to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. But no, despite it all, he was quite real, and it was truly as though such a dream had come true. His aura was so pleasant to her, almost like his soul was simply resonating with hers, their respective essences two halves of one whole intertwining so perfectly with one another. It felt so right being with him that she awaited the break of their embrace with a sort of subdued melancholy; the second they parted and the warmth left her body she would resist the powerful urge to simply return to his arms. There almost existed some kind of magnetic pull between them, a surge of something she could only perceive to be otherworldly existing in the both of them, an itching to stay with the other at all costs. Maybe she was just imagining it; maybe it was all in her head. Or maybe, just like him, it truly was real, and she just didn’t understand why yet.

“Fucking terrible.” She would admit with a long, drawn out sigh when she stepped away from him to continue what she was doing. “Work was annoying- the librarian kept getting on my case for the smallest shit imaginable.”

Pennywise would always recline or otherwise make himself comfortable somewhere, whether it be the couch, a chair at her dining table or sitting directly on her bed. If Mayor Jello was nearby, for whatever reason, he would quickly make himself scarce and disappear from the room. He would listen intently to her woes and give her his undivided attention, wanting to make clear to her more than anything that he valued what she had to say. After all, that would endear himself to her all the more, to establish himself as someone who listened to her when very little people in her life so far had allowed her the courtesy.

“Mmm, you haven’t done anything to get on her bad side, have you?”

“Of course not!” She would exclaim, usually amid prep work at her kitchen counter. “I don’t screw around at my job, it only gets me into trouble. When I was working the Bassey Park fairgrounds, I was the only one who got caught if I sat down during my shift.”

“How scandalous.” He would smirk.

“I know, right?” She would scoff. “It didn’t matter that I was the only one who emptied out the garbage cans at the end of the day, or wiped down all the stalls, or cleaned bird shit off the picnic tables, my bosses  _ still _ had it out for me. That old bat has it out for me, too, I’m pretty sure. Ever since I lost that book last year she’s hardly let me see the end of it.”

“Hmm?”

“Oh.” She stops for a moment, suddenly sheepish. “Guess you weren’t… Around for that. I lost a book forever ago when I checked it out from the library. Some BS historical documentation of the town, guess it was… Pretty rare.”

“Ohhhhh… I see, I see.”

“But I don’t even remember losing it. To be honest, I don’t particularly remember much from that time in general. I guess ever since… Georgie went missing, I fell into a bit of a funk. Still haven’t… Completely come out of it. Grief does weird stuff to you.” She continues chopping, or peeling, or mincing. “Or I guess… Depression does weird stuff to you too.”

He comes to plant a kiss atop her head. “I know, my dear. That’s why I’m here now.”

She smiles at him, blush staining her cheeks. “I know.”

Angel had “clued” Pennywise in about Georgie very soon after they had started talking, some weeks ago when their relationship was just beginning. Who he was, how she had known him, how she thought of him as her own little brother in a fashion. Had told him all about that time in her life, when she was just starting out at the library and how, for a short while, things really felt as though they were changing for the better. How things had only seemed to start going downhill ever since that day he’d gone missing, how it made the kids as well as herself feel broken up and disjointed, how it had made a dark cloud of gloom descend over the town’s collective heads.

_ How the disappearances hadn’t stopped ever since that day. _

Pennywise had known very well about all of these things, but there was nothing he could do for the time being except feign ignorance. No, let her tell him all about the boy, let her regale him with silly little tales of her with those brat children. Let her think for the time being that he was a force apart from that which brought this miserable little town cowering on its knees. It would all come in time. The time was coming for her to learn of who he truly was, but he couldn’t very well simply bring it up in conversation. No, there needed to come a catalyst of some kind, some kind of crossroads to shock her system and forcibly make her cope with the knowledge. He knew it to be a dangerous and risky situation; he knew that, as much as he had made great strides in winning her over, she could be just as easily lost if she responded badly to the revelation. He knew she was a girl of some considerable moral character; he’d known just how much the death of that abhorrent child on Halloween had gotten to her, the survivor’s guilt she had endured for both that and the disappearance of the shopkeeper on New Years. He’d known how much the loss of that little child on the day of his awakening had broken her up in ways she didn’t even realize. He did truly regret that, if he were honest. Had he known the significance of that boy in particular, he’d have selected someone else to take for his first meal. It was true that his role within the town would be an unsavory pill for her to swallow, but it would have been all the more easier for her to grapple with if he’d not taken him. How stupid and impetuous of him, but he would hardly ever admit to such a lapse in judgment. It didn’t matter either way, because he was going to get what he wanted one way or the other.

He allowed himself consolation in the knowledge that, whatever she had endured before, it would surely be different now that he was here. He knew who she was, knew that she was prone to these so-called depression funks, frequent and staggering declines that would have her losing all purpose at best and the will to live at worst. A pattern as a result of patent dissatisfaction with her life, in the routine in which she was mercilessly confined to, monotony she wished so badly to break. Add grief to all that and it was exponentially worse; the poor dear was truly having a rough go of it all this time around. But this time around was different. This time around, he was here. Pennywise was that change she so desperately craved, and he was a change so unlike anything she’d ever seen before. Never before had a paradigm shift so powerful as he come to her on bended knee, offering her the world on a silver platter. Never before had she been treated as anything other than a nuisance or an outcast by society, never had she known such love and had it so genuinely reciprocated. He knew how desperate she was to keep that love, knew she was starved for it and knew she wanted to savor it as long as she possibly could. She expected it all to go wrong eventually, he knew that. And it would, just not in any way she could have ever expected. He was going to make sure this discovery would traumatize her so in that she would seek his comforting touch instead of cowering away from it in fear, for the instinct would be so deeply ingrained she would not be able to stop herself anymore. He would make sure of it.

But no, not today. Not even tomorrow. The time would come, the opportunity would present itself and when it did he would simply make his move. Though she adored what they had, the relationship between them growing more with each passing day, there were still certain aspects she was missing out on, things she wanted but didn’t dare to ask for. And he didn’t push it, because he knew some part of her wasn’t ready for it. Physical affection like hugging or spooning wasn’t off the table; it was just enough to familiarize her with his touch without taking things to the next step. But that next step was coming, and though he could taste that she wasn’t yet comfortable enough to go through with it, to accept it, he knew that hesitation to be growing thinner and thinner by the day. The first kiss… How intimate an exchange, and one he had been dangling in front of her for weeks. Whether it be neck kisses, cheek kisses; whether it be long, lingering looks in each other’s arms or moments of unbearable tension between them, he would simply not allow it to go any further. He knew it was driving her crazy, he wanted that. Even if she wasn’t comfortable with kissing yet, he knew some rebellious part of her yearned desperately for it all the same, and he was delighted to encourage that part of her. Once she was suitably ready for it, and at a time when she needed it most, he would make his move.

Angel had wanted so badly to kiss him, it was something she’d wanted ever since she’d started developing feelings for him watching that silly television show. Back in those days, when all she could do was look at his face through the screen and long for something she never thought she’d be able to have, it was simply torturous. It was such a frustrating feeling, it made her feel helpless, like she was drowning in a sea of painful, shameful longing that she could never escape. And yet, despite all, what bliss it was to look on his face and imagine the hypotheticals; how they would feel pressed together in that moment, sharing in each other’s warmth. They would talk together, laugh together, sway together in each other’s arms. They would fall silent looking into each other's eyes, the tension between them untenably excruciating and then, slowly, one would dip forward and their lips would touch. These were thoughts she would entertain on a daily basis as she got ready in the morning, as she worked her shifts, and as she crawled into bed at night. Hardly a single day passed in which Angel wasn’t plagued with such everpresent wanton desire. Why, then, was she so hesitant to kiss him, take the next step; why was she so powerless to ask for that which would make her so sublimely happy? Hard to say. Call it insecurity on her part, perhaps; Angel had grown up ingrained with the cruel assertion of others that she was disgusting and undesirable. Forget Valentine’s Day, every day outside of that was almost just as bad when there were boys oinking at her in the halls at school, pretending to ask her out and girls calling her fat and ugly in hushed whispers during class. That kind of thing was hard to ignore, as much as her family tried so hard to get her to dismiss those things on those tough nights when she would sit on the floor in a crumpled-up heap and cry her eyes out. Even as she matured she was still haunted by all the words of her peers; she’d spent a time in high school brazenly pretending to ignore it all, shove it back in their faces by wearing the most outlandish things imaginable and spurning their hatred, but as times got tough again she would find herself dressed in increasingly less bold color, almost as though all the joy was being sucked right out of her. All the years of rejection were simply impossible to overlook, and now that she finally had something treating her like she wasn’t the most repugnant thing on the face of the planet, she was… So deathly terrified of doing anything that might jeopardize it. They were in a perfect little bubble together, and she wanted more than anything for it not to pop. What if she tried to kiss him, and he simply rebuffed her? What if he laughed in her face, what if he was revolted by the mere thought? There was some part of her so ill at ease about the thought of pushing him away that she wasn’t comfortable at all in making the first move. No, she wanted him to do it instead. At least that way, she would know that this, all of this, wasn’t just some ridiculous delusion on her part. It was safer.

The fear of rejection steeping on her lovely form was a taste as sweet as wine to Pennywise, one he couldn’t help but savor silently. He couldn’t help it, it was just so tantalizingly delectable on his ancient palate, her fear a flavor so different from the rest of them that it called to him, beckoned to him. He was the only creature on this earth and in existence who was worthy of tasting it, of feeling it dissolve on his tongue like the most cloyingly spun sugar, and though he would not deliberately seek it out, not yet, he could at least delight in sampling that which was born from her own misgivings and insecurities. It was an offering that would sate him for now, but only make him hungrier for what was surely to come. Oh, the delicious little cat and mouse games he longed to play with her. How he longed to take her in his arms, share in the wonderful pull of their mutual tension, a little tacit agreement brewing between the both of them before he released her, before he sent her on her way with a single, simple objective; _don’t get caught._ It was a primal game Pennywise was well-seasoned in playing, but despite all the years he’d been playing it with his chosen victims, it would be different with her, different in a way Pennywise had never truly experienced. And he would surely win. He always did, and when he did he would delight in the spoils that waited before him, spoils he had been waiting to savor for eons; a mate, veins hot with adrenaline from having been found, the blood rushing to her face as she looked at him with desperate, wanton desire and begged with her eyes for him to take her as she lay pinned beneath him. And take her he would. Oh yes, he would give her what she wanted, would give it to her until she was screaming and howling with pleasure into the night, in the cold air of the cistern beneath Derry. He smiles when he thinks of it.

But not now. For now he would simply bide his time and wait, for he knew their relationship was not without hurdles to surpass. He could not give himself to such pleasures until she knew who he was and still trusted him despite it, despite every rational thought in her head screaming for her to get a grip and leave that which brought such pain and suffering to her hometown. She would betray her morals for him, would forsake everything she ever knew to be with him, destined to be his lover and take all that he has to give her not only in compliance, but in willingness to make him happy. He knew how desperate she was to cling to that which brought her own happiness, something which had shown her such generosity and compassion in her greatest times of need, and he would exploit that for all its worth. He would milk her desperation to please him and reward her effort by lavishing her with the utmost love and attention and praise. He had kept up his encouragement of her passions and hobbies as the months progressed, and when she had down days, he was there to offer her comfort and consolation. It was the least he could do for her; after all, she would eventually give herself to him completely, she would belong to him in every sense of the word. She would love him, she would cherish him, she would take care of him. And Pennywise always took care of that which took care of him. Always.

Though Angel was thoroughly distracted with her relationship, she was nonetheless still slightly unnerved by the continued disappearances within the town. The police were still no closer to apprehending the perpetrator of the crimes, not that that particularly mattered to Angel at this point. Given everything she’s seen and heard and experienced, she was fairly certain at this point that whatever was causing all the strife and morbid happenings within the town was no mere man; it had to have been a monster of some kind. The most damning indicator of this was what had transpired on the night of Halloween, where she had bore the unfortunate burden of lying captive witness to the death of Patrick Hockstetter, who had completely disappeared by the morning after. And she knew it was his death; judging by the sounds, the raw, shrill, piercing screams, he was being savaged by something. She did find it strange that the police found no evidence of his body near the Kissing Bridge, not even so much as a single drop of blood. It was all very puzzling, but she couldn’t very well deduce the mystery on her own, no matter how often she was forced to think about it. 

So she’d come to Pennywise with questions; whether or not he’d known anything about who was causing it, if he had any power to stop it, if… If he’d had anything to do with it. Pennywise would always deflect the questions. He wouldn’t lie to her, but he wouldn’t tell her the truth either. He would always come around to the same conclusion, would placate her anxiety with the assertion that she was safe, that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her, not now, not ever. And though this was almost enough to soothe her troubles, there was still a part of her that stewed with worry for the children, for the Losers, who were just as vulnerable as anyone else to this threat. 

“Pennywise I… I’m so  _ scared. _ What if it… What if it  _ gets  _ them? I can’t… I can’t even think about it...”

She would shake like a leaf as she confided in him, would cling to him like a fear-soaked babe fresh awake from a nightmare, and then one day when the town was haunted by one too many chilling disappearances, she had started to beg, implore him to do for them as he had done for her, pressing her head into his chest as she sobbed and cried.

“...Could you… Protect them too? You’ve kept me from harm all this time, and they mean so much to me… Please… _ Please… _ ”

He would shush her as he petted her hair, would soothe her with trilling, chirruping insect song, would hum with pleasure as her sniffles gradually tapered into silence within his hold, as the hours passed between them. And he would reassure her, would tell her exactly what she wanted to hear.

“I’ll do as you say darling, I’ll do whatever makes you happy, you have Pennywise’s word.”

But that did not make  _ him _ happy. No, it made him rife with dismay, to know that she was still so attached to the little shits, the only ones who stood in the way between him and his ultimate happiness, what he had been waiting for years upon years upon years for. It dismayed him so to think of her so committed to their safety that she might… Reject the revelation of who he was, might turn away from him and toward _ them _ in her grief. He doesn’t like that she’s so involved with them; she belonged to  _ him. _ Only him. He wanted her to care about no one else, nothing else, and he wanted to work on slowly eroding their bond. He wanted so badly to eat the little brats, just pick them off one by one until they were gone from this world, nothing more than an irritating afterthought. Nothing would bring him greater satisfaction than to deprive her of that which distracted her from her purpose, her betrothal to him, being promised to him and him only. Yes, he would do as she beseeched him to do; he would hold back from taking them. The time would come when he wouldn’t have to anymore, and he waited with impatience for that day, but that day was not now. She still had yet to come under his spell completely and irrevocably, she still had yet to find out who he truly was and accept it. When she did, and she inevitably would in time, she would not care for them or their wellbeing anymore, she would stand idly by as he disposed of them once and for all.

As the month of May progressed, she continued to keep the company and counsel of the Losers, who slowly but surely came back to continue their visitations following the… Incident that had occurred on Uno night some weeks back. They’d been worried for her but did their best to shrug off her strange behavior, writing it off as simply an anomaly, and in time it had been all but completely forgotten. The school year was winding to a close and they naturally had a number of tales to tell regarding their misadventures. In time, the Losers had even gradually brought with them a couple brand new additions to their group; short and stocky sensitive sweetheart Ben Hanscom who harbored a passion for building things and Beverly Marsh, a snarky, tough-as-nails wildchild with fiery red hair to match her temperament. They were a natural fit for the group, had stumbled into it one day via an altercation with Bowers and his gang of thugs and been welcomed in with open arms. The kids were all too eager to induct a couple new faces, for they all knew very well that there was safety in numbers. With the growing coalition of Losers and the promise of Pennywise to watch over them, Angel felt more and more at ease despite the daunting atmosphere of Derry.

“Show ol’ Anj your battle scar, Ben.” Richie says boisterously in the living room that night. They had sought refuge at Angel’s house following the big standoff.

Ben hesitates before hiking up his shirt. There’s a crudely carved H for Henry Bowers etched into the soft flesh of his stomach. 

“See that shit?”

“Whoa, Bowers got you good, huh Ben?” Angel says leaning back, arms crossed. “I swear, that kid is a fuckin’ timebomb if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Yeah, Angel used to have the worst time trying to keep him in line.”

“Were you a teacher or something?” Ben asks, pulling his shirt back down.

“Oh no.” Angel laughs. “Couldn’t pay me enough for that shit. I was a TA.”

“The only one worth a damn. Richie recalls, fishing through a bag of Doritos for the perfect chip. When he finds one suitably encrusted in cheese dust he continues. “Used to charge for answer keys. Five bucks a quiz, ten bucks a test. I had an A in math for an entire semester because of her.”

“I kind of remember that.” Beverly speaks up. “It was a rumor floating around the halls for a while, but I never had that class. You really did that?”

“Had to make a little pocket change somehow.” Angel sighs. “But those days are over, sad to say.”

“Yeah, now she’s a boring old working stiff. Can’t protect us from the big kids anymore because she’s got a serious full-time job now.” Eddie laments.

“Hey, I’ve got bills to pay. I can’t get by just by babysitting four kids with extremely bad luck.”

“Make that  _ six _ kids with extremely bad luck now.” Stan says with a smile evident in his voice. Everyone laughs. Bill pats Angel sympathetically on the back.

Angel would never mention Pennywise. To tell the truth, she saw absolutely no point in it, and it seemed an affair best kept private anyway, at least for the time being. After all, the children didn’t have much business knowing the intimate details of her love life, so she kept it to herself. That wasn’t even getting into the aspects of his existence she didn’t even know how to explain, like all the gifts she had received for months from a mysterious benefactor, how he had courted her without her knowledge through said gifts and came to her in her dreams, how he finally wound up introducing himself on such a sordid occasion when she needed it most. Besides, she rather enjoyed that she had something just for her that she didn’t have to share with anyone. It felt intimate, it felt special. This thing, this… Relationship she had with him, it was all so new. She truly didn’t know how to explain it to anyone, not even her family and least of all the kids. Her family… That was a matter all its own she had no idea how to address. She knew they would be ecstatic she had finally found someone, a… Boyfriend of some fashion, but he was a _clown,_ and most bafflingly of all he clearly wasn’t human. She doesn’t even know how to imagine bringing him to visit with them, didn’t know how she could possibly explain herself to them. How would she explain the way they’d met? Would she have to lie? Of course she would.

Pennywise’s patent lack of human qualities was growing more apparent by the day. She’d known from the moment he’d come to her that he was not of this earth, but as the days continued and she’d spent more time with him she was growing more and more aware of that fact. She didn’t necessarily mind; she’d always wanted something… Different in a significant other, not that she ever imagined in a million years that she’d get what she wanted in such a bizarre fashion. The way the gifts he’d given her were inexplicably left in convenient places for her to find, the way he effortlessly infiltrated her dreams and her mind time after time after time, the way he was able to make himself puzzlingly appear on the TV and touch her without physical presence were all very convincing indicators of just such a revelation. It didn’t bother her; she found it fascinating, she found it enchanting. He was just so wonderfully interesting, and she loved to simply marvel at everything he could do. 

But yes, in addition to all of this, there was more to him, and she was seeing it all with each passing day. He would make the strangest noises. There was of course the insectile chittering she could hear emanating off of his form from time to time, but sometimes when he was watching the Derry local news, a low, rolling, rumbling growl would rise in his throat, something raw and primal and animalistic that seemed to shake up through the floor like an earthquake of some kind. She interpreted it as dismay on behalf of the disappearances. He would sometimes change his size; though he normally stood at a towering seven-foot stature over her, he would sometimes appear even taller than usual. He’d come to cuddle with her one day in a hulking, massive form that had taken up most of the living room and dining area, and she’d been so taken with his colossal appearance that she had dropped her things by the door and immediately gone to join him. She had fit snugly within the curve of his arm. And most interestingly of all, he would shapeshift himself when she would make art; would act as a model for her ghoulish creative endeavors and mold his face into gruesome shapes for her pieces. She adored this quality most of all, found it… Attractive, in a sense. She’d grown up quite fascinated with the morbid and the grotesque, and knowing he could assume such forms only drew her in to him that much more. It was becoming more apparent with each passing day that he seemed perfect for her in so many ways. She was… She was in love with him.

There was, of course, a small part of her that was still slightly paranoid, though. Despite how perfect things were, despite the bubble, she had a slight niggling sense that things were just a little  _ too _ perfect, like there was mold and maggots beneath all the saccharine cake and frosting of their relationship. She was afraid some kind of shoe would drop, a realization would come to light which jeopardized the idealistic nature of their rapport and she would be left with the rotten taste of it all. Watching him day after day, keenly observing little hints of monstrous behavior, some part of her was scared. Asking him questions about the dark presence within the town and coming back with repeatedly inconclusive answers, some part of her was slightly intimidated. She knew her suspicions to be an absurd notion after all he had done for her and all he had continued to promise to do, but some small part of her feared it all the same. Yes, despite the purity of their dynamic, all the love and trust that had been established so far between them, some part of Angel… Feared that he was the monster.

That was ridiculous though or, at least, that was what she would tell herself. Pennywise was sweet, he was considerate and compassionate, nothing at all like the thing that had seemingly brought such pain and suffering upon the town. He was protective and gallant, he was her guardian angel and he’d vowed not to let anything happen to her or the children so, honestly, just how could she justify laying such baseless accusations against him? So he was a little on the inhuman side. That meant nothing. Absolutely nothing. It didn’t mean he was a monster, and it certainly didn’t mean he had ill intentions. And though it was selfish and wrong of her to think such thoughts, a small, indifferent part of her conscience made the admission that, as long as she and the kids were safe, it really didn’t matter much whether he was the monster or not. She personally had nothing to worry about, she knew she would be protected from it, and that was all she needed to sleep soundly at night. It was terrible, and she dared not admit it out loud, but it was a thought she harbored all the same.

Pennywise knew of these thoughts, knew all about how they were plaguing her mind and consciousness day after day after day. How could he not when, after all, he’d been the reason for all the dissidence in her head? Exposing some of his own monstrous traits had not been a thoughtless mistake on his part; no, no, Pennywise had done just such a thing on purpose and with the explicit intention of making her familiar with the unsavory revelations she’d soon be contending with. He  _ wanted _ her to see those sides of him, wanted her to not only see them but accept them, even if it was still hard for her. After all, when all was said and done, she would not only abide his wicked transgressions but openly aid in them as well, even if it was not a transition made overnight. He couldn’t wait for the day when she could join him at his side in his hunts but in the meantime he needed to take the necessary steps to slowly introduce her to the idea of her purpose. He knew that he had already come along quite a ways in this particular endeavor. He knew that she liked cuddling in the crook of his massive arm, found herself silently stirring with something deliciously wanton she didn’t quite understand at the sounds of his snarling growls at the TV. Knew that she loved seeing him take monstrous forms for her little art projects, that she was little more than thrilled to find that he could appeal to such macabre corners of her psyche by visualizing such morbid things. He could already taste her willingness to justify his role within the town in the name of preserving her own relationship, knew that to be indicative of a darker, more twisted side to her that lay dormant, waiting to be awakened, one he would try in earnest to rouse from its slumber. She was meant for him, she  _ was, _ and this was the reason why, beyond anything else that had been made apparent to him so far. No one else in this shitty little existence could find such things so attractive rather than polarizing in a significant other, could accept such beastly behavior for the sake of love and love alone. Angel truly was something special.

It was the middle of May when she was beginning to reach her breaking point, and Pennywise could sense it, could taste it. It drove him positively wild, but one wouldn’t be able to tell that by his composure; no, by all appearances, Pennywise was positively cool and collected. He was able to keep a lid on things with the greatest of ease, play the part of the suave and charming suitor for, after all, he’d been preparing for this for eons. He’d been imagining these precious moments for so many years, and now that they were within his reach he intended to savor each and every one. He would only get to experience these things once, and the way it all melted on his palate was worth all the hard work, the excruciating months spent looking on her from afar and wishing he could simply hold her in his arms. That first night they’d spent together was such bliss for him, it took everything he had to take everything slow and not move too quickly. If he’d gone too far in their first real meeting he’d risk putting her off. He had showered her in physical affection but had held off from giving her anything concrete, anything of real substance. But regardless of how much he forced himself to hold back, he had basked in the flavor of her innocent desire, in the way she gave herself to his embrace completely and utterly, how she’d fallen asleep in his arms, her gentle breath syncing with his alien heartbeat. Pennywise was not one often capable of such unabashed emotion, but the way he’d felt her stirring contentedly in his hold was enough to make the eldritch beast swoon. How delighted he’d been, to have won her over so easily. Such easy prey.

And it was getting easier by the day. Pennywise found keeping her favor was exceedingly simple at this point. She gobbled up his attention like candy, would talk to him eagerly every day when he would come to visit, would obey his every little command, the way he subtly directed their conversations or beckoned her to sit with him on his lap or simply encouraged her to accept his compliments. It was all a very nuanced manipulation on his part; every interaction was a calculated step in his overarching plan. She was all too excited to oblige in all of it, too moonstruck to consider ulterior motives or devious angles he might be playing at. No, to her, he was her guardian angel, her knight in silken clownsuit; she adored him, she idolized him. He had given to her what she had built up in her mind as the be-all-end-all of human existence, reciprocal love and affection she had never known her entire life. And he had decided he would not delicately introduce his true presence in the town. He would make sure the epiphany disjointed her at her core, would force her to confront it at her most vulnerable, at a time when she was least likely to reject it. It would be a hard pill to swallow for sure, but with all that he had achieved in their relationship thus far, he was all but certain she would eventually come around to it.

Angel was so positively consumed by the honeymoon phase of their relationship and so reassured by his vow to keep a protective watch over her and the children that life was progressively becoming easier to cope with again. The bad wasn’t gone, and of course she wasn’t immune to hard days, but hard days were easier to bear when he was there at her side, cheering her on with a syrupy sweet voice and a winning smile. Pennywise knew that constant attention and approval was the key to winning her heart, and he was content to lavish her with the utmost validation and deference until she would do nothing but hang on his every word. It wasn’t as though he was doing it just to win her over, either. No, she was his queen, and she deserved only the best, from him and from anyone who had the privilege of making her acquaintance. She was the lone sunbeam in an otherwise dim and bleak horizon, the only thing upon this plane that Pennywise would spare of any mortal pain and suffering. He would not hurt her, he would always treat her with the greatest gentility and care, would only treat her roughly when she explicitly asked for it, when she desired it from him. And he would, always,  _ always _ give her what she asked for, if she begged and pleaded for it sweetly enough to garner his honest consideration. He would spoil her, he would pamper her, he would give her the world. He loved her.

She was getting better as the days went by. It had started out rough; even in her lovestruck elation she was still in the midst of a bad depression spell, and it was evident in the way she behaved and conducted herself around him. When he had first started talking to her, he had an awfully difficult time trying to get her to accept compliments. She would always deflect them or reject them outright, and she often avoided eye contact with him. Her hair was often disheveled at best and greasy at worst, and a lot of the time when he would come to visit he would find her in the process of gorging herself on unhealthy foods, which she would very quickly try to hide from him upon his arrival. It would make her gain weight, and it was something she was clearly upset about. She would wear a lot of the same things when he came to her, and he found that she dressed very unremarkably in general as a result, a stark contrast to what he knew of her wardrobe patterns in high school when she was of a little more self-assurance. He would never remark on her weight with any negativity, he would simply reaffirm his attraction to her whenever she was feeling inadequate, would tell her just how much he liked her curves, that she was so delightfully soft to feel pressed against him. It was with all his attention and unflagging positivity in regards to her that Angel found herself with her head lifted a little higher every day, her confidence increasing until she found herself rediscovering joy in things she had long ago lost passion in. She had even started dressing a little bolder in response to his flattery, finding his words so addicting that she had started reintroducing color and vibrance back into her ensembles. Gone once more were the days of drab, baggy turtlenecks and long, draping skirts that hid the form; Angel was bolstered, so out came the blouses, the mesh, the fishnet tights and the flaring miniskirts once more. And Pennywise loved all of it.

It had bled over into her work routine as well. Sure, the daily grind at the library never changed, and sometimes it got a little boring, but the possibility of seeing or hearing from Pennywise always put a smile on her face. She would always get the same stupid, dopey little grin when he crept into her mind; she would feel warm, she would start to blush, she would get restless at thoughts of him. Thoughts of his voice, thoughts of those eyes boring down into hers. Thoughts of just how  _ tall _ he was, how his hair in the shadows was a gorgeous auburn that burned fiery orange when it finally caught the light, how crisp and immaculate his makeup always was, that it never seemed to smear. Thoughts of the way he would talk to her, how kind and charming and funny he was, the sing-song lilt when he would purr her name. The way he would rock her in his arms when they were alone… The way he would feel pressed against her at night… All the chemicals, all the tension between them over the weeks and yet he still hadn’t kissed her. It was driving her positively insane. She knew it to be ridiculous on her part; if she really wanted it so bad, shouldn’t she just reach out and take it? But she couldn’t for the life of her be so bold. Though Pennywise had restored bits and pieces of her confidence, this was nonetheless an area in which she had little knowledge or experience, and of course there was still that part of her that was deathly afraid of rejection. She wanted it from him, wanted more than anything to feel his lips against hers, velvety soft and wet, wanted him to take that leap for the both of them and bring them into a new level in their relationship. She wanted more intimacy, she wanted to share herself, she wanted to know more about him.

She’s getting lost in thoughts of him as she works one Friday afternoon, letting delicious musings carry her on light feet as she walks through the rows of tidy bookshelves, cataloguing returns. The pile yields many of the same books from days and weeks before, popular reads that would get checked out on a regular basis that she’d grown accustomed to seeing in the bin every now and then. And the patrons are largely the same as ever too; the library was prone to attracting only a certain ilk of Derry’s population, either students who took their academia at least a little bit seriously and seniors who often had nothing better to do, sometimes frazzled parents who needed someplace to bring their child that would occupy their fickle minds. She’s humming a song that’s been stuck in her head all day ( _ The Ghost in You _ by the Psychedelic Furs), looking forward to the end of her shift with a kind of pleasant, stirring excitement. She wears her favorite silk sweater with a chic checkered circle skirt and colorful argyle socks, and around her neck is the pearl heart and the necklace he had given her for her birthday. It jingles delicately with every step she takes, when she bends down to place another book back in its designated row, and when she turns around to grab another book from the pile. The library is expectedly quiet, so she’s left to carry on in her fantasies undisturbed, the only sounds in the room being the gentle sound of turning pages and the mechanical  _ whirr _ of the AC unit overhead. She’s nearing the end of the pile for the day, she almost looks forward to taking the front desk again so she can sit down and rest her feet for a while. The librarian is nowhere to be seen; she can only assume that she’s off attending to some important matters she need not concern herself with. She simply continues in her duties, her thoughts drifting through elegant pictures of her dashing suitor, and she feels the heat creeping across her cheeks again at the thought of him. She finds herself drifting off, her eyes glazing as she thinks of his towering stature, his beautiful smile, and she pushes the cart forward--

“Hey.”

She snaps back into attention, her eyes shifting back into focus as her fantasy is brought to a screeching halt. She almost thinks she hallucinated the voices behind her, but then she hears the giggling. She turns around. There’s a group of three boys standing before her in a loose circle. They looked to be roughly Bower’s age, or even a little older, and they all wear a leering sneer on their faces. She can sense the judgement in their collective stare as she backs up into the cart.

“I… C-Can I help you..?” She stutters. She wonders what they could have possibly been laughing about. Was there some sort of “kick me” sign taped to her back or something?

“I knew it was you.” 

“I… Huh?”

“You’re that chick Henry always talked about.”

She feels sick. Time suddenly slows to a crawl as she stands before them, and she knows she looks stupid just staring back at them but there’s nothing else she can do. She’s frozen to the spot. She knows what’s coming.

“Didn’t I tell you she looked familiar?”

“Yeah, he was always going on about some bitchy lesbo TA, always getting him into trouble at school. Said she wore the tackiest trash imaginable.”

“That  _ has _ to be you, right? I mean, god, look at that skirt with those socks. You’ve gotta be a fag if you’re gonna wear shit like that.”

Where was Pennywise? Where was anybody? She’s desperate for someone,  _ anyone _ to come to her rescue, save her from this awful situation before it got too out of hand.

“He said you had a big mouth too. Why aren’t you talking back, huh? Scared of a bunch of boys, you flaming queer?” 

All those hurtful words are pelting her like bullets and she’s speechless with disgust. No one comes to her aid, no one even seems to register what’s going on, even as their voices rise to regular speaking volume. They all continue in what they’re doing, simply negligent or at the very least patently oblivious to the current happenings. All she can do is keep taking steps backward. She’s abandoned the cart, she’s inching back towards the south wall of bookshelves, but she comes into contact with something solid behind her. A hand snakes up her skirt to grab her ass and she squeaks helplessly, biting back a yelp. When she whips around again she finds another one behind her, and there’s a chorus of derisive laughter from the gaggle of boys. This one is bigger, stocky and intimidating. His breath reeks as he leans down to whisper to her, seemingly so no one else could hear but she knew better. She knew better.

“You’re pretty hot for a dyke, you know that? I bet I could change you.”

“Bet we all could.” One of them chimes in from behind her. She shivers with revulsion. Her mind is screaming for anyone to intervene but there’s only silence from the rest of the room. Not even the librarian, who had the habit of manifesting at truly the worst of times, was anywhere to be seen. She wants Pennywise. She’s begging for him in her mind; she wonders where she is, she’s frantically trying to will him here, thinking that if she tries hard enough he might just show up and take care of them for her, protect her. Where’s Pennywise,  _ where’s Pennywise? _ God,  _ where is he?  _ She feels the tears prickling in her eyes, and the boy laughs meanly, the rest of them joining in. When it dies down the boy leans in again with an insidious whisper.

“...When do you get off, sweetheart? I’d like to get off with you.”

And that’s it. That’s all she can take. She kicks into fight or flight mode and shoves past him, and she runs, runs all the way into the bathroom in the employee lounge, ignoring the laughter behind her as she does so. She runs in, slams the door shut and locks it, her heart pounding restlessly in her chest. She can’t come out,  _ won’t _ come out. The tears well in her eyes now and she sinks down onto the tile floor. One sob comes gurgling out of her throat, and then another, and then before she knows it she’s bawling into her hands, stifling her fear and misery as much as she possibly could in the closed off confines of the bathroom. That cold fear is still spiking through her veins and she cannot assuage it even as she rubs her arms pensively and takes deep, shuddering breaths in through her runny nose and out through her mouth. And through it all she's half-expecting Pennywise to come to her in the way that he always did, give her that telltale sign that signified his arrival, but all she felt was cold,  _ so _ cold. She knew she should have stood up to them but she was just so  _ scared. _ It didn't matter how much he had built up her confidence or how bold she appeared on the outside; she was still the same timid, scared girl on the inside, too afraid to do anything that might put her in any real danger. She almost wished she could still be that brazen girl of her high school years but that girl was mostly gone; she'd had it simply beaten out of her over the years with harsh, biting words and cruel cold shoulders. She could put on a brave front for the kids, but when she was alone she was just some shrinking violet, a wallflower that no one would pay attention to because she was just so plain and unremarkable.

She’s so afraid that they might have followed her back there, she just spends eternal minutes cowering in the bathroom, imagining dark hypotheticals that have her shaking like a leaf in turbulent winds. They had… They had threatened to… She’s sucking in heaving breaths through her lungs as she hyperventilates, trying to push the thoughts out of her mind and wishing, hoping to god that Pennywise would come to her. Just where was he? He wasn’t in her head, he wasn’t even whispering to her, he was completely and utterly AWOL. She had gotten so accustomed to his regular presence that she hadn’t stopped to consider that he might be completely absent in such a pressing situation. He was her guardian angel, just what use was he if he couldn’t even be here to protect her? No, no, that wasn’t fair. She chastises herself for thinking such awful things. He was more than that to her, he offered her so much more than a vow of protection that she couldn’t possibly take any of it for granted. Perhaps he was busy, perhaps he was caught up in something else. He did seem to have something of an agenda, even if she hadn’t any idea what that agenda was. She wished she knew more about him, wished she understood him more. She wished she had any clue who he was.

She lets her sobs taper into sniffles and then she gets up from the floor to drag herself over to the sink. She turns on the faucet and splashes cold water on her face, rubbing her reddened eyes and cheeks until they were no longer wet with tears. She lays her head in her hands and sucks in a deep breath through her nose, and then she blindly reaches for some napkins to towel off her face. Once her face is dry she blows her nose, and then she stares at herself in the mirror, small and feeble and powerless behind the mirror glass. She hates the way she looks, she hates it, hates the slope of her jaw and the curve of her nose and the perpetual bags under her eyes. She finds herself wondering just how Pennywise even found her attractive at all in the first place when she was just so… Ugly. She tries to push those thoughts away but they make themselves prominent nonetheless in her vulnerable state of mind, her mind rationalizing that maybe Pennywise finally came to his senses and left her behind just like everyone else eventually did, and that’s why he wasn’t here. It wouldn’t surprise her. It would hurt, but it wouldn’t surprise her.

She knows she can’t stay in the bathroom forever, as much as she might like to, so she takes a heaving deep breath and carefully opens the door. It creaks ever so slightly as she does, and she steps back into the employee lounge. The boys surely had to be gone by now, she assumed they all must have left after they’d had their fun, had no other reason to stick around in such a dull place. She hopes more than anything that they are, she hadn’t the strength to face them, not after how mortally embarrassing the first encounter was. She hates herself for not standing up to them; had it been two or even three years earlier she might have thrown it all back in their faces, carelessly and capriciously insulted them back all in an attempt to maintain bravado, but she wasn’t that person anymore, as much as she wished she was. All that confidence was simply gone now; it didn’t exist as long as there were still people in the town to ostracize and ignore her, as long as she was crushed under the existential weight of adult life, as long as she felt this way. She wanted desperately to be that person again, for herself and for Pennywise. He deserved someone infinitely better than her, not that she could ever admit that out loud to him. She found herself so gobsmacked on a daily basis that he wanted to be with her, that he liked her at all, that he enjoyed her company and seemed to genuinely want to see her. Not that that seemed to matter now, she thinks bitterly as she walks down the steps back into the main room.

She forces herself to go back to work, forces herself to pretend that she felt normal as she comes back to her unfinished returns. She looks around warily, scanning over the space, over every shelf and every perceivable nook and cranny of the library before she lets her gaze lower back down to the cart. They seemed to be gone now, she couldn’t see them anywhere. In fact, the library itself seemed to be relatively barren at this point save for a few lingering students. She breathes a sigh of relief, finding herself comforted at long last by the silence and the fact that her shift was almost over. She’s resolved to get through the rest of it in one piece; she almost dreads taking the front desk again out of fear of interacting with anyone else for the rest of the day but being able to sit down and properly collect her thoughts is a much-needed reassurance. Then she’ll be able to clean up and go home, and leave this terrible day behind her. Maybe she’ll even see Pennywise. She hoped, anyway. She gives a cursory glance to the rest of the books in the pile. They’re mostly nonfiction titles; a few textbooks and a biography or two, but there’s a couple mystery novels and even a western/fantasy epic about a tower in the mix. She takes her sweet time putting back every selection, thinking that for all her trouble she was more than entitled to taking things slow for the rest of the afternoon. She moves with the cart at a leisurely pace, taking deep breaths to ease the lingering anxiety in her head. The pile 

is slowly dwindling into nothing, and with the lessening load the clock is ticking further and further past the hour.

She finally reaches the end of the pile, and there’s only one book left, a rambling historical document that could only belong in one place; the archives. Though it was by far her least favorite place in the library to go, she could at least admit that she wouldn’t be bothered by anyone down there; it wasn’t exactly accessible to everyone else. If you wanted anything from the archives you had to ask for it from the librarian specifically. People often didn’t do this out of genuine interest in the history of the town, it was mostly just students doing school projects that required them to do a little halfhearted digging for the sake of adequate grades. She didn’t envy them in the least. She replaces the cart in its usual storage space and musters a big yawn, sparing a glance at the clock overhead. Quarter to four. In no time at all she’ll be taking a broom to the floors, dusting and wiping down all the bookshelves before collecting her things, clocking out and making her journey home. She always liked cleanup time; there was something about mundane tasks like that that allowed her to free her mind of any and all complicated thoughts. She’s all but forgotten the boys by now as she walks, document in arm, through the back rooms of the library and around to the winding staircase that leads down into the archives. She can hear the librarian click-clacking away at her typewriter in her office and she pays it no mind, simply continuing on her way and counting the tiles in her mind. As she meanders along she thinks of Pennywise, wonders if she’ll be seeing him at all when she came home. Who knows, maybe he wasn’t there because he was thinking of surprising her. He _did_ like to do that sometimes. Maybe she was being irrational. Pennywise hadn’t abandoned her, he wouldn’t do such a thing. He… He loved her, didn’t he? She at least liked to entertain the thought. She starts to get warm at the thought of him, and as she makes her way down one flight of steps that warmth only increases. Not in any way that was sweltering or unpleasant, just in a way that swept over the entire body like a comforting blanket. It was the feeling she’d gotten so accustomed to, when he would hold her in her arms or whisper sweet things to her; when she could simply feel his presence, be it through a waiting gift or his own ethereal manifestation. She’s more than attuned to all of this by now, she’s even starting to think that maybe this warmth is a sign that he could be down there waiting for her. They would, after all, be all alone in there, and he loved it when they were all alone. Maybe he would… Maybe he… She blushes at the thought, at the thought of something that she’s been screaming for silently in her mind for weeks every time they came together, at every unbearable moment of tension between them. She wanted it so bad she could hardly stand it. 

As she nears the archives she starts to feel that dopey smile creep across her face at the vivid images in her mind, at the tingling warmth that washed over her body with every step, but it sours ever so slightly when she hears a noise. She hears something down there, and she stops. A rat, maybe, or a raccoon? Some kind of pest, most definitely. Angel was the kind of girl who was wary of wild animals like that, not knowing what kind of diseases or contagious infections they might carry or spread, but she couldn’t just… Shirk her responsibilities because of a little childish fear. Her heart pounding in her chest ever so slightly, she decides to brave the darkened corridor anyway and she continues her way down the steps. The noise only gets louder but curiously enough she still feels that warmth. She rounds the corner, making her way towards the last flight. She tries not to think of whatever might be lurking in the shadows, she simply lets her eyes scan lazily over the document in her hands in an attempt to distract herself. It sounds like wet, it sounds like chewing. It sounds like… No, she wouldn’t even entertain the thought. She just keeps walking. She hears her own echoing footsteps as she ambles down the final stairs to the archives, and the picture of the darkened room gets a little clearer as she nears it. The warmth is still there, seeping into her bones and she can almost feel him, though she has no idea where he could possibly be. She makes her way down the last few steps and lets her eyes flicker upward once more to scan over the room. Cold lightning strikes her veins when she sees it.


	19. Burst

When she sees it, it doesn’t fully metabolize at first. The archives are dark, and she thinks that maybe the shadows are playing tricks on her, that they’re inspiring her brain to dig up morbid shapes from the deepest, darkest dredges of her mind. Shapes that only existed when she was dormant, when her consciousness was little more than a whisper to end a conversation. Shapes that existed only in nightmare worlds and sweat-soaked fever dreams. When she sees it, her mind is moving so slowly that it only processes what’s in front of her one word at a time. Gaping. Sharp. Jagged. Ripped. Dripping. Seeping. Oozing. She can’t look away, her gaze is chained, shackled to it as she stands on the last step of the descending staircase. It’s much larger than a rat, or any other kind of pest she could have possibly anticipated, and she can’t make out the details of its form very well in the shadows. She can hear it though, can hear something firm give and tear from brute force and it plucks at chords of primal fear instilled deep within her. The sight itself is extraordinary in truly the worst ways imaginable, and the lack of details almost serves to make it more unnerving. The image is stark and grotesque even from such a distance and the longer she stands there staring at it the more she’s losing feeling in her legs. They feel as though they might give in underneath her at any moment, and she can’t move her eyes either; they’re wide like saucers and they won’t shift,  _ can’t  _ shift, simply rooted to the spot like her feet underneath her. She’s growing numb but there’s a feeling building in her gut, in her lungs, and she can only ignore it for so long. For now, there’s what’s in front of her and the way it looks, the way it sounds, and no matter how much she wished she could in this moment, she can’t truly escape it.

There, in the darkness of the archives, stands a ghostly, spectral visage. Something truly inhuman, something eldritch and unnatural, hunched over in the great, infinite black. It seems vaguely humanoid, a tall, gangly body attached to a big, gaping maw stretched open impossibly wide. The mouth boasts what had to be hundreds of razor-sharp teeth, and she can see it elongating further to accommodate that which hung lifelessly from its jaws. It’s limp and jutting outward from the monstrous cavity, and she can only assume that it had to be a long dead animal of some kind. But no, that wasn’t right,  _ couldn’t _ be right. It was much too big to be an animal, and it’s limbs were much too long. It appeared bipedal, and though she can’t see very well she processes wet, dripping fabric hanging off of it. As she continues to process the ungainly movements of the mouth swallowing up the carcass, her eyes start to notice the visual details of the beast before her, details mostly obscured by the shadow of the room but given away by the reflected light above the stairs. It doesn’t appear to notice her as she strains her eyes to look closer, as she stares in slackjawed horror at the sight before her, a display of vicious bloodshed that only the truly deranged could appreciate. The face is white, painted and pallid, and she cannot see eyes on the creature, no doubt lost within the wrinkles of its features, hidden by muscles pulled taut by the sneer of its open mouth. The…  _ Blood _ dripping from its jowls blends into stencils of red face paint stretching up from its lips to its forehead and wisps of fire hang about its head, bouncing with every snapping movement of its jaws. There’s… bird-like feathery ruffles about its neck, and at the bottom of long, lanky arms clad in dirty silk there’s unforgivingly sharp talons poking out of coal-black hands, large and intimidating. The creature has a firm grip on whatever it’s eating, the bones of its jaws cracking and snapping as it swallows it down. With each passing second she’s discerning the scene playing out before her eyes, the picture becoming just a little bit clearer, the thing before her becoming even more recognizable. The appearance of the thing is unmistakable now, it… It’s…

“P-Pennywise…” She breathes.

It turns toward her with a cursory glance, its mouth snapping loudly again as it continues chewing and she bites back a shriek, resisting the building feeling in her gut, the screams she had been holding back for so long. The maw closes just a little, just enough to allow its golden eyes to roll back into view on its face and it stares into her from the shadows, processing her just as she had been processing it. She backs up a pace and finds herself falling back onto the stairs. She looks up at it helplessly, still in such raw shock that she can’t speak. She can’t even breathe, the air is simply gone from her lungs, and the longer she stares the louder she can hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears. It doesn’t look anything like him in this moment but she knows that it’s him. She knows. And she knows what he had been eating, the answer being plainly obvious in her mind as she reflects back on the last couple hours of her shift. It horrifies her. It disgusts her. 

“Angel.” It gurgles,  _ he _ gurgles. His voice is infernal and low, it commands fear and meek obeisance. She flinches and whimpers a sob into her hands, eyes welling up with terrified tears. He finishes chewing and polishes off the rest of the carcass and then, slowly, very slowly, his face starts to return to normal. She watches, frozen and unnerved, as the rest of his facial features slowly come back, the sound of joints cracking and popping in the silence as his mouth gradually takes shape again and closes. She blubbers inconsolable inanities into clammy palms, tears streak down her shivering face. She’s shaking now, starting to back up the stairs slowly and as carefully as she can in her panic, her mind broken with fragmented thoughts racing through her battered head. First the boys in the library and now… Now this.. This… He’s advancing on her all the while, taking calculated steps to match her own movements back towards the haven of the upstairs library, the light from above seeming warm and comforting now to her cold, dread-soaked body. He’s cautious, catching up to her with every step.

“Angel.” He repeats. His voice is back to normal, smooth and lilting and sweet, and he wears a look of genuine concern on his face but she can’t even look at it. 

“Pennywise, I…” She stumbles up another step. “I can’t- I  _ can’t _ …! This is-”

“Shhhhhh…” He’s getting closer. She blinks back the tears in her eyes and chokes on her revulsion.

“Puh-please don’t… Don’t come closer.” She breathes, winded from lack of air. In this, in all of this, she’d somehow forgotten how to breathe. This was… This was sick. She felt sick.

“Angel…” He sounds sad and, all of a sudden, though she hides her eyes behind shaking hands, she can see peeking through her fingers that his eyes are blue, that familiar blue she’d fallen in love with watching him on the Derry Children’s Hour. They twinkle in the darkness, oceans clear as day on a black horizon and she can feel her horrified dismay start to deflate ever so slightly at the sight of them, so somber and heartbroken that it makes her ache. Just like that, with a simple look and a delicate whisper, he’s broken down her horror ever so subtly, made her start to forget what she’d seen by replacing it with all those familiar, fond memories of him. Everything he’d said, everything he’d done… But  _ this… _

“Don’t hide, don’t run away from me, darling,  _ please… _ ” He almost seems to beg her. The bells on his suit are subtle yet undeniably present, almost a death knell in her mind. She stops in her fruitless pursuit to ascend the staircase, unconsciously obeying him as she squirms at the back of the third step. He makes his way ever closer, slowly catching her pace until he seizes the gap entirely. He towers over her cowering form, and for the first time, she finds that disquieting rather than safe and comforting. She keeps her hands glued to her face, not daring to face him directly despite the instincts inside of her urging her to lower her guard. After all, this was  _ Pennywise. _ He was her protector, her guardian angel; he’d looked after her and offered her comfort in her greatest times of need. He’d made her laugh, he’d brought her things to make her happy; he was _ everything _ to her, he was her entire world. But this… It starts to trickle in from the back of her mind again, washing over her like a sickness, a full-body tremor, thoughts and inklings she’d had a thousand times over but foolishly ignored. Threads of little hints and implications, insights and indicators of something truly terrible under the tip of the iceberg, standing right there before her and she’d simply overlooked it, chosen to pretend that it wasn’t there. The world around her was rose-tinted, and she’d been blind to the rest of the color spectrum, rampant with saturated shades and hues of vicious, unforgiving reality.

“Darling, come here…” He’s coming closer.

She sobs from behind her hands, resisting him, resisting her own mind. “N-no. No, I-I-”

“Angel, my dear, you have to let me explain…”

_ Explain what? _ Her mind is swimming with it all, her head a raging whirlpool of realizations, of hypotheticals almost surely made fact by this discovery. She didn’t even know what to make of it, what conclusions to draw from it, from any of it. She finds herself turning away instead. She’s in denial, she truly can’t wrap her head around it so she refuses to. She wanted the comfort and the safety of the bubble again, she’s desperate to wind back the clock and forget what she’s seen, just bury her head in the sand and forget it all. But the bubble is popped and she’s here in the real world again, cold and dark and cruel. And there in front of her is someone she loves so dearly, someone she had pined to hold in her arms for so long, someone she wanted to run to. But she couldn’t move, even as he looms closer. She can’t move, she can’t breathe. She’s petrified.

“You… You k-k-killed him…” She whimpers.

“It was necessary.” He whispers, coming closer still. “The filthy little roach made you cry, he _ threatened  _ you… They all did…” His eyes flash a mean, hostile yellow for a second as he speaks of them, but just as quickly as it had come they wash back blue again when his tone softens. “I needed to take care of it, take care of them…”

_ T...Take  _ care _ of them? _

He approaches her carefully and crouches down to meet her cowering frame. He appears thoughtful and cautious, and after a moment of silence between them she can see his hands slowly and gingerly reaching towards her. He gently pulls her hands away from her face and she lets it happen, too weak and exhausted to resist him. “I know it’s hard to understand, I do…” He looks down into her eyes and bafflingly, despite it all, she can sense true remorse on his face. Somehow, beyond it all, beyond the monster, beyond everything she’s just seen, it’s still him, it’s still her guardian angel underneath. She starts to feel that tingling warmth in her gut, staring unblinkingly at him as he speaks to her. “But I did this for you… I needed to protect you…”

He strokes her cheek. “...I was only trying to act in your best interest. I… Care for you so deeply, my pet… I…” Her heart stops.

  
  
  


_ I love you. _

  
  
  


She can’t breathe. There it was, spoken out loud for the first time, a feeling between them too strong and potent to deny. Something that had been lingering for years, for eons somehow, and she’s thunderstruck. She doesn’t know how to react at first, she’s silent as she processes his declaration, thoughts of a million different flavors stampeding through her mind while she fights off the lingering dissent. He… He loved her. It was something she’d wanted to hear from someone her entire life, a bold and earnest admission that would make the world a fairytale, if only for a brief and yet deliciously eternal moment. She hadn’t thought even a year ago that she would find something like this, would find herself swept off her feet by a handsome beau, someone that would dedicate himself to her so genuinely. Enough to stay with her, accept her as she is, enough to say… But no, wait..! He… He was… She stares into his eyes wordlessly, unable to look away even as his eyes fade from blue and surge slowly into molten gold. His eyes burn, they’re impossibly bright, and the longer she looks into them, the more she’s losing feeling in her body again. The warmth was… So different now. 

He stands again, gently bringing her with him. He holds her steady, and even as she stands two steps above the ground he still towers over her somehow. His touch is soft and sweet, and despite how numb she is she can feel herself shuddering with delight at the feeling of silk hands trailing up the side of her body, one resting at her hip while the other has come back up to stroke the slope of her jaw. His voice is a lullaby and she finds herself consoled by it; with each passing second, the atrocity she bore witness to is fading from her mind. Come to think of it, most everything was at this point. The world was fading out around them, time had frozen. It seemed like the only thing that existed now was her, and him.

“This was… The only way to do right by you, my sweet. Pennywise saw, Pennywise  _ heard _ the way they talked to you... I couldn’t have anything threatening to hurt you, take you away from me… You understand, don’t you?”

_ … Don’t you? _

She’s starting to nod, her eyes are glazing ever so slightly. He brushes away a fresh tear that slips down her cheek.

“...This was necessary, my darling. This was the only way…”

_ This was necessary… This was the only way… _

It’s ringing in her head, he’s repeating it slowly like a mantra. His eyes never leave hers, they simply bore down into her like the sun beating down on the earth on a hot summer’s day. And she is helpless to it, helpless to his appeal; all she can think about in this moment is that he  _ loved _ her, he tried to protect her. Regardless of how he did it, he… He did it for her. A horrific act, sure, but one done out of loyalty and devotion. How could she spurn such a thing? How could she turn away from it, when she’d so pined for anything in the world that would make her feel so… Special?

“This was necessary…” She feels herself start to mumble in her haze, her eyes sinking down to the ruffles at his neck as she mutters it like a broken record. “...This was the only way. It was the only way, it… It...”

“Yes…” He purrs. “Yes…” He’s still stroking her cheek, gently, soothingly, but his hand… Pauses, there, at her chin, almost thoughtfully. Almost as though it was carefully calculating what it might do next. He cocks his head as he looks down at her, positively entranced and spellbound, waiting for his next words, cheeks stained with fallen tears, and he admires the way the sunbeams from the window above halo around her form so elegantly. She looks so small, so small and vulnerable; defenseless. He could do anything to her and she couldn’t stop him, simply wouldn’t be able to. Her chestnut hair falls over her shoulders in a wave and it glows, burns almost as brightly as his in the light of the corridor above her. And her eyes… Oh, they’re so beautiful like this, he could just stare into them forever… He wants to look at them, he wants to marvel at them, rich and hazel and full of soul. He tilts her chin upward and their eyes sync up with each other again, and he loves the way he can see her now, hinging on his every word and movement. She was truly hypnotized in this moment, purely transfixed on him, the light in her world, the only thing that would ever bring her true meaning. He stares into her, looking through her, dissecting her every thought and sampling the taste of her innocent emotion, and then without another word he leans in.

He captures her lips with his in a dizzying kiss and now, time simply ceases to exist. Her belly coils and springs with a storm of butterflies, bringing sensation back into the numbness of her body and suddenly, the world is all vivid technicolor. He deepens it, seeking her mouth hungrily, delighting in the way her eyes flutter closed to savor the feeling. She moans helplessly and leans into it, her hands feeling around for his chest and clinging to the silk there in an effort to ground herself. Pennywise lets one hand rest elegantly at her cheek but the other is placed dominantly around her hip. He pulls her closer and grins into her mouth when she squeaks. It all feels so good that she feels like she must have dreamt this moment into existence, and every time she gasps air into her greedy lungs he takes her lips again for another kiss. He doesn’t let her rest, not like this, not when there was so much pent up tension between them that desperately begged for release. He simply keeps coming back in with another sweep, eagerly meeting her lips every time until they’re caught in an endless feedback loop together. She doesn’t want it to end. She can taste rust on his tongue but she couldn’t care less, she didn’t care about anything now. His lips are so soft that she thinks they might just melt into hers and the warmth of his breath, somehow cloying, was addictive. She feels like she can just be like this forever, but her eyes flutter open again when he starts to pull back. Her heart sinks.

“Ohhhhh, Angel…” He sighs. “Pennywise knew, knew you would understand… Such a good, smart girl you are… Do you know that, pet?”

“I am?” She asks, a faint hopeful twinkle in her eyes. They’re still glazed over but she’s rediscovering feeling in her body now. She’s slowly coming back.

He pulls her against his chest in an intimate hug. He strokes soothingly down her hair with one hand, keeping the other on the small of her back. She presses her cheek against the silk with a breathy exhale, letting her arms wrap around his midsection and rest there. She’s floating.

“Yes… No one else in the world could accept me as I am… But I know that  _ you _ can… There is no one else like you, little one, little Angel…”

_ You are truly special. _

She glows there in his arms, simply letting the euphoria of his words wash over her. The darkness of the archives is as prominent as ever, but it’s as though the light shining through the window overhead is casting a spotlight on them. She’s still reeling from the kiss, simply not able to fully process what’s just happened. It seems as though everything that has happened down here has happened over the course of years, and she can hardly remember what it is that she was so upset about. She can… She can remember, but it doesn’t seem so bad now, not when she knew why he did it. It seemed to make sense in her moonstruck mind, she remembered just how small and petrified she’d been not an hour before when she was being harassed by those boys, just how repulsed she had been by their threats and implications, how she was screaming out in her head for Pennywise to come and save her from them, exact justice somehow for what they had done. He’d come a little later than she had anticipated, but he had come to her all the same, and offered a permanent solution to her problem. He’d… He’d  _ protected  _ her, he’d made sure they would never ever threaten her again. Right now it simply didn’t matter what he had done, Angel wasn’t even registering it. She simply stands there with him, still and silent and yet, despite it all, perfectly content in this moment.

An eternity seems to pass between them, Pennywise holding her close, Angel returning the gesture, and the both of them so at peace in each other’s company that nothing else mattered. They had hugged so many times before but it was never like this; somehow, this was something unlike anything else. They were becoming one, their souls were resonating together, the stars were aligning for this perfect moment and neither wanted that moment to end. Angel was starting to find that the longer she spent there in his arms, the more she was inclined to stay there. She knew where she was, she knew they stood together there in broad daylight, that she was shirking her responsibilities right now by being with him, but she didn’t care about any of it. He was warm, he was safe, he was everything she needed to forget what she’d seen, and some small part of her was afraid that if she left his arms, it would all come flooding back to her again, that she’d have to deal with it. No, she couldn’t, not now. Now was just too perfect, and she couldn’t pop the newly rejuvenated bubble that had reformed around them. All she could do was just… Just…

“Come, look at me, darling.”

She meets his eyes again as he pulls back from her. He looks at her with sunny eyes, but they don’t burn anymore. They just make her feel like home. He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and lets his hands rest gracefully at her shoulders. He rubs them comfortingly, his gaze never breaking from hers when he speaks. His voice is soft and syrupy sweet.

“I don’t want to have to let you go, but I’m afraid I must, at least for now…”

She deflates just a little, just enough for him to notice. He appears apologetic.

“I know, I know… But I’m sure the librarian is looking for you, and I don’t want you to get in trouble... You understand, don’t you, sweet girl?”

She appears to contemplate his words, then nods slowly and somberly. He chuckles, rubbing her cheek with endearment.

“ _ That’s _ my girl. Don’t worry, I’ll be right behind you.”

Her face brightens and she smiles and he loves it. He can see it in her eyes again, a fire that he hopes will never go out, a spark that glints and burns brightly within her bold, hazel irises. He’s about to pull back from her and let her go but then she lunges forward and does the impossible. She initiates a second kiss and he’s caught entirely by surprise, the pleasant sensation of her lips against his so sublime and inviting that he can do nothing except lean into it again. He takes her head in his hands and pushes back, and he feels himself shuddering with raw, primal desire when he hears, feels her whimpering into his mouth. She’s dizzy, almost ready to faint there on the staircase but he holds her upright, making sure this moment persists. He’s not ready to let her go now. The passion between them is electric as they share in each other’s blissful, raspy breaths, but Angel is the one to pull back now; she clears her throat and looks shyly down at the ground, almost in admission that she didn’t know what had come over her. Pennywise tilts her chin up again and smiles, but he doesn’t say a word. His eyes communicate everything.

“I should… I should be going…” She giggles, pressing her hands up against her hot cheeks. “Don’t wanna… Piss her off. I should…”

“Then go, my dear.” He says evenly and with compassion. “Go ahead…”

She hesitates, staring at him just a moment longer, but then she turns and starts to slowly ascend the staircase. A few paces upward and she stops, she turns back and looks at him bashfully again.

“Go on…” He encourages her. “Go on, sweet girl, little love. I’ll be right behind you, promise promise.”

She smiles and turns around, continuing up the staircase.

**~~~~**

The rest of the day had gone very smoothly for Angel. Once she had walked back up the steps and back into the main room, the world on her shoulders had felt just a little bit lighter. Things had resumed as normal, the librarian hadn’t hounded her on where she had been for so long; in fact, when she had cast a glance at the clock overhead she found that little more than five minutes had seemed to pass the entire time she was down there, and what’s more, the library had apparently carried on just fine in her absence. She had remembered feeling so calm and mellow when she picked up where she left off, like nothing in the world could get her down. No paranoid insecurities or mean-spirited boys 

**_(or monsters lurking in the shadows)_ **

Could spoil her mood; no, Angel was simply walking on clouds. The memory of the kiss was so ethereally vivid that it was all she could seem to think about. It was something Angel had built up in her mind for so long, something she had been pining for for ages, and now that she had experienced it for the first time, she could do nothing else but relive it in her mind again and again and again. Perhaps it was silly to get so hung up on such a thing, but that didn’t matter to her. She’d been waiting so long, this had all been building for the better part of a year, ever since she had started developing feelings for him. To tell the truth, it went even further than that; Angel had wondered how all of this might feel pretty much her entire pubescent life, when the pressures of having a relationship had first started to weigh on her generation. She hated having to watch others experience such a thing when she hadn’t the luck to do so herself, it was utterly soul-crushing. But now that it had finally happened, it had seemed worth the wait. It had all seemed worth the wait.

She continued her shift in a kind of starry-eyed repose. She had felt him there with her; he didn’t speak, he didn’t exist physically but she could feel him. His aura was present in the room like mist over a tranquil pond; it dominated the space in a very subtle, very delicate way. She felt herself getting lost in that haze again, dopey, dreamy grin spread over her face as she assisted with checkout for the majority of the rest of her shift, and the haze persisted even as she took a broom to the floors and took her time wiping down all the bookshelves. When she’d checked in with the librarian and punched out, she’d collected her things and walked leisurely out the green double doors. She hadn’t hurried home today as she had so many times before; today she was so blissful that she needed to walk slowly just so she could savor it all. She wasn’t worried at all about being accosted by some low-life hoodlum, for she knew if she was, Pennywise would surely save her somehow. The how of it was escaping her mind for the time being but that didn’t matter; she simply knew that he would come and she would be safe. 

She plays with the bell around her neck as she strolls along Up-Mile-Hill, still flush with ecstasy from the events of the day. He’d kissed her, had even said he loved her… She could hardly believe it, she was so overcome with joy that she was practically skipping at the thought of it. She’d been imagining it, had been contemplating the events that might lead up to such a profession for months. How he might come to her on bended knee or sweep her off her feet, whisk her into a dip during some profound romantic moment and look her in the eyes, saying breathlessly those three perfect words. How their mutual stare would linger for what seemed an eternity before the revelation of his feelings overtook him and he finally leaned forward to give her what she had been dreaming of for years. How her knees would wobble, how her heart would thunder in her chest at the feeling of those soft, red lips against hers. She had wanted it from him for so long, and though it seemed now she could have taken it for her own whenever she’d wanted to, it had meant much more to her in the end that he’d finally decided to take that step for the both of them. She had wondered if he had held the same reservations as she, that he might have hesitated to take that crucial next step for fear of scaring her off, and that’s why he had taken so long. That he saw the same value in her that she saw in him, that he had simply been biding his time for the right moment to proclaim his love. That he was afraid of losing her. It appealed so much to the hopeless romantic in Angel that she simply couldn’t help but entertain the thought.

Everything else was lost to her. All that had existed in Angel’s mind for the next few days had been the first kiss, the first “I love you,” the bubble and everything else that was perfect about their relationship. Beyond that, she had trouble thinking clearly, or processing, or remembering. When she’d come home that evening after the first kiss, Pennywise had been waiting for her, had immediately taken up all her attention the second she walked through the door. He’d asked her how the rest of her day had been just as he always did and given her a loving peck on the top of her head, had smoothed his hands comfortingly down her shoulders and listened to her earnestly as she talked. They’d watched TV together that night, and he’d come to cuddle with her in her bed until she drifted off to sleep. He’d made sure that he was the only thing on her mind until she shut off for the night, the loving “boyfriend,” the perfect version of him that had given her exactly what she had wanted. He’d made sure everything proceeded as normal. He wanted her not to think about what she’d seen, wanted her to come to terms with it gradually as the hypnotic haze gradually wore off in the next week or so. When she was sober enough to ask questions, and he knew she would, he would give her the truth. He knew it would break her up, he knew she would seek comfort, and he would be all too delighted to offer it to her. But for now, let the bubble last a little bit longer. He owed that to her.

Angel got up the next day for work positively glowing, and Pennywise had remarked on it that morning, had opined about how her smile seemed to brighten up the room, that it was contagious and he was absolutely thrilled to see it. He was even delighted to find that she didn’t dodge or deflect his compliment; she simply giggled at the words in her head, at the voice in her ear, and merrily continued in her routine. Pennywise couldn’t help but bask in the flavor of her joy; he had found the sweet tang of it to be absolute heaven on his palate, and the sight of her so happy had plucked at something warm and lovely inside of him. Pennywise was a great and loathsome and vile creature devoid of compassion and empathy for most, but he was not without something doting reserved for that which was worthy, that which could unlock such a gentle part of him. That part of him had always existed, but it was simply dormant up until he had finally looked upon her face with his own two eyes, once she had come to him like a dream, and then it had bloomed so beautifully like a rare and eternal flower. Pennywise did not resent such feelings, he had longed to feel them for centuries, but he would not feel them for anyone or anything else in the world. Angel was special.

He had watched her go about her business that first day following the kiss, and everything seemed to be going swimmingly, as though nothing had happened to upset her in the first place. She had gone to work, had gone through all the motions of her daily procedure; he’d accompanied her on lunch break that day and kept her company (even sending her off with another kiss when it was over, this time a quick and familiar peck on the lips that had her stumbling clumsily back inside like an ungainly drunkard after one too many pints of booze). He’d teased her about her ditzy behavior and found pleasure in the way her face would flush, how she would consequently become even more airheaded in the process (if that were even possible) as a result of his playful pestering and try very earnestly to keep her cool in front of the patrons. He’d even found her humming that all-too-familiar melody while she went about her work, playing with her bell while she was cataloguing returns or manning the front desk. But things had almost very nearly gone awry when Angel had to put something back in the archives; he could taste the dissent in her head as it came swimming up from the depths of her mind’s ocean, could tell that the cogs were starting to spin again in her brain, that she was one unfortunate revelation away from breaking down sobbing on the hardwood floor. Couldn’t have her making a scene in public, at her job of all places. He knew that would jeopardize her. He needed her to come to terms with it in a safer place, when the two of them could talk about it uninterrupted for as long as they needed to. So he’d started whispering in her ear sweet little things to distract her; how pretty she looked, how soft and sumptuous her lips were when they’d kissed, how he couldn’t wait for her shift to be over so he could kiss her all over again, and slowly but surely she’d forgotten it all over again. 

Pennywise wished he could take all the credit for keeping her stewing mind at bay, but the truth was Angel had wanted to forget what she’d seen just as much as he did. It was just as much her own doing as it was his for, after all, only the willing can be hypnotized, and Angel had fallen under his spell very quickly and readily. She had always been this way; always the ostrich, never wanting to face discomfort head on, and Pennywise could not be more pleased for it. It only meant that she would be that much easier to win over, knowing that she would rather cope with an unsavory realization about someone she cared about rather than lose them entirely put him at a clearly marked advantage. It was definitely something of a weakness for her but Pennywise took no qualms in exploiting it, knowing that every little detail of her character worked cosmically to make sure they would end up together in the end, that the ends justified the means for him. Though he cared greatly about her content, his happiness was paramount, and he would stop at nothing to secure it for himself. He didn’t feel guilty about it, for how could he? He knew that his love would fulfill her more than anything else in this miserable little world, so how could he possibly deny her that? What were a few well-meaning manipulations for an eternity of bliss? She would forgive him.

Once the work day was over, Angel quickly cleaned up and proceeded homeward. The walk home was pleasant and congenial; the atmosphere of the town didn’t seem grim as it so often did, it just seemed as though things were fine, that they had always been fine, that there wasn’t a lick of anything sinister lurking in the shadows or behind any corridors waiting to pounce on its next unfortunate victim. No, Angel had felt very at ease the entire walk home, counting the minutes until she walked through the front door again, until she would find _him_ waiting for her, ready to lavish her in affection and attention and praise again. Angel found that she never seemed to tire of her new routine, and in fact, she was growing to love and cherish it all the more with each passing day. She would never get tired of him, or the way he woke her up every morning, or the way he would tease her at work, how he would sing to her every night; she always looked forward to his presence and missed him when he was gone. The daily validation, his assurances of her when she was low, the way he seemed to dote on her so unconditionally, it had all meant so much to Angel. It was a new normal unlike any other she’d ever experienced before. It refreshed her in a way that made the daily grind not so bad, because even if she’d had the worst day imaginable, even if she’d gotten jaded with her station in life as she so often did, all she would have to do is think of him and all her problems would seem to magically disappear. Pennywise was new and exciting in a way that just… Wasn’t comparable to anything else.

So when she had walked through the front door and found him waiting for her again as he had done so many times before, she had come to him happily. Yes the day had been easy, and she had gotten through it handily, but there was still no thrill equal to seeing him in the flesh again after she’d spent so long pining painfully after him. The muscle memory of the way her eyes would widen and the way she would grin was ingrained now, she could often feel it building on her face as she stepped up onto the porch and fished in her bag for her ring of keys. And the way her heart would race when she finally opened the door… Oh, what heaven it all was. Now in the wake of the first kiss Angel would find it all to feel even better, for when she walked into the foyer that evening and found him waiting for her, it took everything she had not to simply leap into his arms.She knew she couldn’t. No, the mood simply wasn’t right for such things. He’d set a tone for their next encounter with just his disposition alone, and Angel knew better than to upset that. When it came to their meetings, Angel was often inclined to let Pennywise take the reins and lead the way. It didn’t bother her; she liked being able to let go and let him take her wherever he pleased. It was freeing in a way, and she’d always been a rather submissive girl from the get-go. Luckily Pennywise was a perfectly dominant yin to match her yang.

“...Hello, my pet.” He had purred from the darkness of the unlit living room. 

Angel sets her bag down with a coy smile. “Pennywise?”

“I’ve been waiting all day for this.” He’s hunched over ever so slightly on the couch, one hand slung casually over his knee. He beckons to her with the other with a crooked finger and a “come hither” motion. His eyes glint a sultry orange in the shadows. “Come here.”

She swallows, a million wanton thoughts racing through her head as she processes the sight of him there. She knows what might be coming and she can’t wait for it but she forces herself to be still nonetheless. She pauses at the coffee table and he chastises her gently.

“Don’t keep me waiting, little one. I said  _ come here. _ ”

She paces herself as she steps closer, gulping again. He smiles up at her, patting his lap.

“Sit.”

He lounges back on the couch and holds out his hand, and she takes it before nervously taking a seat on his knee. 

“Mmm,  _ good girl _ , but I’d rather you get more comfortable than that. Pennywise wants you  _ here. _ ”

“Pennywise, I-” 

One gentle but forceful tug and she falls directly into his lap, her head crashing into his chest. She yelps.

“Now,” he says, his voice even and soothing. “Turn around and face me, sweetness.” After a beat, he adds. “I won’t tell you twice.”

Her heart is racing but she forces herself to stay calm and collected. She moves slowly, sitting up in his lap. On her knees, she pivots until she faces him, and then she very carefully starts to straddle him. He appears pleased, growling in pleasure at her obedience, but he is not entirely satisfied. He places large and imposing hands at her hips and repositions her, pulling her closer until she’s pressed up against his midsection.

“There. That’s better, now, isn’t it?” He whispers.

“Are you sure I’m not too heavy?” She asks shyly.

“You’re light as a feather, my dear.” A few reassuring strokes of the thigh and she shivers. She’s so flush against him that their pelvises are almost aligned, and the position makes Angel’s face hot. She rests her arms around his neck and looks up at him.

“So… How was your day?” He asks, his eyes never leaving hers.

“G-Good. Painless, actually.” She admits. “Although I felt a little bird-brained today. Couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything.” She pauses. “...Wonder whose fault _ that  _ is.”

“Sorry, my dear.” He grins mischievously. “You know I like to watch you squirm.”

She frowns at him. “Yeah, well, I wish you wouldn’t do it when I’ve got people to talk to. You know you made me freeze up in front of like three guests today?” He chuckles.

“Mmmm, if anything that is _ your  _ fault.” He says, playfully poking a finger in her chest. “You’re simply much too cute when I pester you.”

“It’s not cute for me.” She pouts. “I just end up looking like an idiot.”

“Yes, well, you’re  _ my  _ idiot, sweetness.”

She gives him an inappropriate look that quickly dissolves into amusement.

“Yeah, yeah I guess I am.”

“ _ That’s _ my girl.” He beams. “Under the… _ Circumstances, _ though, I think you did an excellent job as always.”

She blushes. “You think so?”

“Why, of  _ course, _ dear. That uptight librarian, she’s got absolutely no sense of humor or style, she’s joyless and stiff as a board. Now _ you, _ you handle all your duties with such grace and aplomb, you’ve got a certain… A certain _ flair _ to you. I’ve seen the way you walk when no one’s looking, like you’re on a runway.”

Her face is even redder now. “Yeah, well, I… That’s how I used to treat school, kind of like a fashion show. Hell, during marching season I would bring an extra outfit to change into after first hour every day. Goes to show you how dedicated I was to being a social outcast I guess.”

He’s solemn. “Those children were fools. They couldn’t understand you so they didn’t appreciate you.”

“Kids are harsh.” She shrugs, but she’s shaking out of habit. “I don’t… Typically get along with them. Well, except for the Losers, I guess.” She notes, and Pennywise has to stifle a frown. “I didn’t get along with them when I was their age, and I get along with them even less now.”

“Ever wanted one of your own?” He asks innocently.

She seems caught off guard by the question. “Oh, I uh… I guess I always grew up wanting them, you know, like the “get married and have kids” thing… I always wanted that, hopeless romantic that I am, but now I’m not so sure. With all my problems I don’t think I’d make a very good mother.”

He leans in with a smile. “...I think you’d make an  _ excellent _ mother.”

She’s silent, and that familiar word washes over into her brain again, seemingly from out of nowhere.  _ Mate. _ It makes her face flare up again with heat and she can’t seem to summon any more words. Pennywise seems to catch on to this and he cups her cheek gently, almost as if to draw some of the warmth out through the silk.

“But no need to think about all that right now, darling. For now, let’s just think about this.” He leans down and takes her lips in a deep kiss and, suddenly, Angel feels all the thoughts drain out of her head. He doesn’t give her a chance to think or process anything, he’s simply breathing ideas of his own into her, corrupting her with such delicious empyrean sensation. She is enslaved by his intentions, caught up in the way he smelled, the way he tasted, like an illusory traveling carnival fragrant with the scent of fresh popcorn and candy apples and he savors the taste of her reckless desire, mouthwateringly sweet and succulent to his ancient, otherworldly palate. All it takes is a few seconds before she loses herself to him completely, the room around them fading into blissful static as they give themselves to each other in all totality. She parts her lips to allow him access and he hungrily takes advantage, cupping both cheeks in gentle hands as she moves in closer on his lap. Her trembling hands trail up from the nape of his neck to his hair and finger delicately through the fiery curls rooted there, the only thing keeping her anchored to reality. His lips are warm and tender and he’s unremitting, persistent; like they’re simply attached at the mouth and he never intends on letting her go. His tongue is long and sinuous against hers, they mingle together naturally like two coiling snakes and the mutual lust settles over them like a heaven-sent perfume, lingering as they kissed each other endlessly. It seems as though ages pass there in each other’s arms, there in a place where the passage of time simply didn’t matter and Angel is melting, she’s dissolving into something incapable of rational thought or reason. She seeks his luscious, red lips with a hunger of her own, a desperate plea for this to never end, for this feeling to carry her into eternity.

But eternity was not within arm’s reach yet. After what felt like years between them passed in the throes of inescapable desire, they finally broke away from each other; Pennywise held her there in his lap and Angel sleepily traced circles in the silk on his chest for the duration of the evening. She hadn’t thought of much else and the night passed without any incident. No thoughts of what he had done, what she had yet to cope with. Only the sight of his face, the scent of his breath, the taste of his lips. When she’d gone to work the next morning, the only process in her mind consisted of that of their relationship and how it had progressed; where it had begun and where it was going, where they might go together. Still in the lingering grip of his gentle hypnosis, Angel had passed the hours oblivious to the implications of his actions, and whenever the thought of the days previous had crossed her mind, all she could think in her lovesick haze was that Pennywise had protected her from those mean and vicious boys. The how of it simply didn’t matter, and she couldn’t remember it anyway. All she could seem to remember was that feeling of being small and defenseless, terrified down there in the archives, and Pennywise had been there to comfort her, he’d kept her safe. And that was all that mattered, the rest of it simply minute details that she didn’t care enough to recall.

As time progressed, however, Angel was slowly starting to remember whether she wanted to or not. In the day following, the haze was slowly dissipating ever so slightly, enough that she could remember something vague, something jarring and monstrous. She couldn’t remember when, or where, but she could remember the way she’d felt when she saw it, the way her mouth had fallen agape and she’s been frozen to the spot in abject horror at the sight of it. It had started when she was cataloguing returns that day; she’d been walking up and down the rows, placing titles back in their preordained spot on the shelves when she suddenly had a flash of memory. It was something small that had triggered it, the sound of laughter from children behind her or the insistent squeak of the cart’s wheel, but when it had hit she suddenly found her eyes welling up with tears, she’d felt her chest grow tight and her breathing grow short. She had to stop herself from having a fit right there in the middle of the library, had to keep from shrieking out in terror when the sequence of events stampeded through her mind in rapid fire from out of nowhere. There was only one thing that saved her, an insistent thought intruding amid the chaos, something calm and soothing that gave her pulse rest somehow.

_ It was necessary. It was the only way. _

And she’d been fine. She’d almost completely forgotten, right then and there. Angel had continued in her duties, almost as though the rememberence had never occurred in the first place. Pennywise had been pleased to witness this willingness to forget, her desperation to deny what he had done and rationalize it in any way she could. He knew her to be far too helpless in regards to her love and infatuation, that the rose-colored lens strapped firmly to her eyes would keep her from viewing any of this with rationality. Though she was surely horrified by the revelation of who he was, he knew she would come around out of loyalty for, after all, how could she spurn that which was so kind and gentle and loving to her? Angel was loyal to a fault, he knew that; it was reciprocal to his own sense of dedication, at least in regards to her. That’s another reason he had known she was made for him; once she had been won over, she would not falter in her devotion. She would choose him over everyone and everything, even her own family. Even those brat children. And why? Because he would shower her in more attention and adoration than anything else on this sorry little planet ever had before. He would give her what she had never been given, a sense of true purpose in the world. They would co-exist, completely lost in their love for one another, and nothing else would ever matter.

As the days in the week continued, she was remembering more and more. It was beginning to hurt her, and the worst part was, she couldn’t tell Pennywise what was wrong. The stupor was dwindling into nothing like anesthesia wearing off on a surgery patient, and all that was being left behind was the pain, the soreness, the swelling on the healing wounds. Pennywise had continued to distract her with love and affection but that wasn’t enough to qwell the increasing sense of dread that was starting to descend over her like a looming storm cloud. And Pennywise was not oblivious, he was more than aware of the taste of the her mind, the way she was finally starting to connect dots and though he was worried, for her and for himself, he tried to keep composure, knew that if he didn’t approach this with the utmost of care he would risk terrifying her beyond all consolation. He didn’t want that, didn’t want to have to do things the hard way, to take her against her will under the unforgiving snare of the screaming deadlights and break her mind completely and utterly. He would, but he didn’t want to. He liked her better this way, alive with a bright and lovely mind free of eternal tampering. Though he would shape her thoughts to reflect his own desires, he still wanted her, at the end of the day, to be herself. That was important to him.

So that is why he watched her with careful consideration as she slowly started to recall the events of that fateful day, watched as she silently stewed with something awful and uncomfortable, neglecting to speak with him honestly out of fear of confirming her own suspicions. He watched as she gave herself to his meddling, wanting to distract herself from facing the awful truth, and watched as she worked not to upset herself while they engaged in more amorous activities together. Pennywise took this opportunity to up his affection; now that kissing was on the table, he wanted to kiss all the time. He would greet her with a kiss as she came in the front door after work, he would give her quick pecks in between natural pauses in their conversations, he would emphasize to her now more than ever that he was the thing keeping her on her feet, the thing keeping her from sliding back into familiar and devastating depression. Angel found herself susceptible to these manipulations, as even with the creeping wariness in her mind she was still very much comforted by all his attention somehow, the feelings all too ingrained at this point to dismiss or reject. She would forget her misgivings the second those lips brushed against hers, would forget that sense of mortification she’d felt when she’d walked down the archive steps and set eyes on that ghoulish visage in front of her, the churning in her gut as she processed it all. And she would forget the sneaking, niggling thoughts in her brain, her reflection on everything she’d heard and seen, the pieces of the puzzle she was so close to putting together. But not forever.

They’d been together in Angel’s bed one evening. The weekend had come after the long work week of before and she had woken up to the sight of him there with her under the covers, warm amber eyes peeking at her from underneath the shadows of the comforter. He’d greeted her with a kiss, one long and indulgent and she’d come away dizzy, like she were simply a whirligig sent reeling by the spin of his expert, gloved fingers. He’d promised to stay with her from the start of the day to finish and she’d remembered feeling at ease by the assurance, finding that now more than ever, she didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts. They’d spent the day in listless decadence; they’d laid together in bed for a time, Angel had gotten up to make food, Pennywise had followed and kept her company as she ate. They watched TV, they danced together; Pennywise had offered to model for her art but Angel found herself refusing for some reason, citing that she wasn’t in the mood to draw that particular day. Pennywise had obliged with her declination and simply moved on. As the afternoon became evening Angel had made dinner and gave some to Pennywise to sample; she had become vaguely faint as she watched him eat it, swearing to herself that she caught a glimpse of razor fangs as he eagerly swallowed it down. She tried to just forget it. When her eyes had gotten the slightest bit heavy she asked him to accompany her to bed, thinking that if he stayed with her until she fell asleep she wouldn’t think about it until the next day.

As they laid together in the warmth of her bed, Angel let herself get swept up in the angelic sensation of his touch, in the way he would suck ever so gently on her earlobe, kiss her neck; the way he would drum his fingers at her hip ever so slightly to indicate his desire. The way that hand would travel ever so slightly inward toward the mound between her legs, venturing close but never fully exploring her, simply leaving thoughts, implications. The way he whispered in her ear, his voice a delicious, lilting lullaby that numbed the senses and left her wanting more from him. This… Nighttime ritual between them had existed for quite some time, but it had taken a new turn ever since that first kiss, ever since new ground had been established between them. Pennywise had taken on a pattern of predatory behavior that would have Angel’s heart racing. If the time came when the tension between them was at a head and he could not wait any longer for her he would simply push her onto her back and climb over her like a pale, painted spider. He would corner her, would look in her eyes and bask in the familiar taste of her wanton desire, the adrenaline in her veins, and then he would dip down and seek her lips with a dominance that made her squirm helplessly in his arms. They had been spending the better part of an hour like this every night that week, simply lost in the perfume of their mutual longing, sharing in each other’s breath as they kissed. It was bliss, and it made her forget. But not forever.

They had been like this that night. Pennywise had been the instigator as almost always; he had waited for a time where there was only silence in yearning between the two of them and then he had made his move, rolling her onto her back so he could hungrily take his conquest. Angel wouldn’t be able to stifle a giggle, nervous and demure as he did so, and she would instinctively part her lips to grant him access, giving herself to him and the intimacy of their mutual encounter. And she would moan and mewl into his mouth, and those whines of pleasure would bubble into laughter in her throat when he would leave a tickling trail up the side of her neck with his tongue. He would grin into her skin as he did so, because the sound of her laughing into his mouth was a feeling unlike anything else in the world. He intended to savor every second of it. They’d been caught in that whirlwind together, giving and taking from one another in the slippery banter of their questing tongues, the delirious, swimming ecstasy of it all descending over them like a tempest of purest sensation. There in each other’s arms it had all been perfect, nothing could touch Angel now as she fled up the staircase to seraphic elation, at the light above that beckoned to her.

But then, as Pennywise trilled and growled into her mouth, that feeling had begun to stir in her stomach again. Everything she’d been pushing away, everything she’d been ignoring, it was all starting to pool around her feet like a trickling sea of ink, rising and advancing up the skin of her legs until, at last, the lucid part of her brain had finally started to notice it. She tries so hard to disregard it, she wants to banish it from her thoughts, because now felt so good, she didn’t want it to end. She pulls him down into her as she kisses him earnestly, gasping for breath in between each interlude, trying her best to relish and enjoy the tactual sensation of his tongue rolling against hers. But then she notices the reptilian qualities of the muscle plundering her mouth and she remembers, recalls the darkness of the archives, the horrific vision of a long, tortuous thing snaking out of the creature’s great maw to lick and taste the red dripping from its jowls. As Pennywise bent over her and took her head in the strong security of his hands she remembered how she had felt when she saw it, small and afraid and, in that moment, terrified for her life. She remembers flickering thoughts of everything; the unease within the town, all the continued disappearances… She remembers Patrick, she remembers the shopkeeper, and then those giggles turn into gurgling, ugly sobs. Pennywise stops, he pulls back. There’s tears in her eyes, and she’s cowering into her hands. The concern in his voice is genuine.

“What’s wrong, my sweet?”


	20. Face It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Self-harm mention

He pulls back from her. 

“What’s wrong my sweet?” 

She is nothing in that moment but inconsolable, the static shock of something she can’t control gripping her in a crushingly electric vice. She flinches away from his touch and snivels into shaking hands, able to do little else but hiccup in sheer misery as it all comes flooding back to her. Suddenly she’s reliving that afternoon down in the archives, but it’s not the pleasant euphoria of being kissed for the first time; it's the mortal terror, it’s the sick, wrenching feeling in her stomach as she watched something primal and savage at its core, something raw and animalistic, the sight of a boy being consumed alive by a monster. The snapping and crunching of bones in her memory makes her cringe. She’s bawling into her palms now, sniffling and sucking in greedy breaths of air between pauses. He shifts from the top of her to her side, shushing her, stroking her hair.

“Angel, sweetheart, you must tell me what’s wrong. Pennywise is worried…”

He knew. Oh, he most definitely knew. He’d been waiting for this moment in something of a stirring anticipation, for weeks, months, eons. It had come now, the moment of truth, where she would finally confront the revelation of who he was and come to terms with it. She may not come to terms with it immediately, but she would eventually. For now, the time had come for him to be entirely truthful with her. He would stand firm, he would answer her questions, he would offer her a willing shoulder to cry on should she desire it. He hoped more than anything that she would not reject him, that she would not run from him completely. He didn’t want to have to do things the hard way.

She doesn’t even know where to begin, she’s simply blindsided by the sobriety of the realization, that not even the exhilaration of kissing something she held so dear could keep her from confronting what she had been so ardently avoiding. She’s silent, processing her thoughts as much as she’s able to, but they’re a roiling, stampeding mess inside her head, chaos simply reigning free in the recesses of her suffering mind. She finds that dwelling on it just makes her start crying again, she’s wailing even harder now as he strokes a gentle hand down her back. She simply keeps crying, recoiling into herself, crumpling into a heap as she sits up and she refuses to look, refuses to make the association, the final nail in the coffin. An eternity seems to pass as she simply bawls into her hands. Pennywise gives her the space she needs to process her thoughts, to speak in her own time as she gains the will and courage to do so, and then slowly but surely those sobs taper into silence. Hiding there, she finally whispers to him.

“Y-You… You _ killed  _ them, Pennywise.”

He’s silent too, and then he speaks. He does not patronize her. He does not pretend not to know of what she talks about. He is simply honest.

“...Yes, I did.”

She sucks in a hitching breath and sniffles. She’s quiet again, letting him rub her back, succumbing to his gentle touch in such a desperate time of need. It comes into her head like a resonant gust of wind, overpowering all other intelligent inquiries in its fury.

“...Why?”

Such a simple question. It’s posed so brokenly, there’s mourning in her tone. He is not unsure of how to answer; he had been having this conversation in his head for centuries, after all. He observes the way her face is red, no longer from the thrill of their romantic rendezvous of before but rather from her own pitiful, disconsolate weeping, observes her posture, hunched over and shoulders slouched in her grieving. Her hands have sunk to her legs now but they’re clenched; she avoids eye contact with him and her stare is rooted to her feet. Her breathing is still choppy but she’s taking long, deep breaths now. They shudder up through her chest and make their way out through her trembling lips. He looks at her sadly and continues soothing strokes down the small of her back. His voice is gentle.

“...Because they hurt you, Angel.”

Her eyes would have widened at that if she’d had any of the energy, but all she can summon is another hiccuping sob. She’s plainly miserable at such an explanation, it does nothing but bring a torrent of guilt crashing down over her. It leaves her soaked to the bone, wretched and shivering, huddling inward for warmth that didn’t exist now. Because… Because they _ hurt _ her. How could she possibly contend with such culpability? So much pain, so much misery, so many people hurt, and all because they had made the fatal mistake of crossing her. That was the reality of it all, and she hated it. She wanted to hide away from it, from him, from the town, from all the pain and suffering but still she faces it, knowing that the time to run had long since passed.

“On Halloween.” She croaks, her voice small and fragile. “I...T-Took the kids out trick or treating. We got harassed by some boys, one of them beat me up and threw me off the Kissing Bridge. I… I heard something attack him, and the next day he was missing.” She sniffles again and pauses, almost as though she’s afraid to pose the question. “Was… Was that you?”

He stares at her, unblinking. “Yes. It was.”

She swallows and continues. “...On New Year's Day, I tried to buy a doll-  _ that _ doll- from Secondhand Rose,” She says, gesturing weakly to Pepper on the shelf. “The owner got mad at me and threatened to call the cops. I was thrown out, and the next day he was missing too. Was that you?”

“Yes.”

“ _ Why? _ ” There’s a hint of anger in her voice. Anger and hurt.

His voice is stony and uncompromising, like a towering brick wall resistant to wind and sleet and rain. “Because he was no different, Angel. They all had one thing in common, my dear, and that was threatening _ you. _ I can’t abide that. I will not tolerate any threats to my mate.”

His…  _ Mate. _ Had it been any other time, her stomach would have fluttered at the word, but now, despite it all, it only churns with disgust. He can see the way the emotions shift on her face, and his hand moves from her back to stroke the slope of her jaw.

“Angel-”

“Pennywise,  _ no! _ ” She cries, jerking away from his touch. Tears are welling up in her eyes again. “I can’t… I  _ can’t…! _ ” 

His hand catches hers as she makes to get up off the bed. He stares up into her, his eyes a furious red-rimmed gold, but his tone is as even and soothing as ever.

“...You  _ can, _ Angel. I know you can. Listen to me.” He pulls her back down, slowly, gently, and she obeys his direction, ever submissive, ever docile even in her exacerbated emotional state. He’s firm. “I didn’t want to have to take them, but they offered me no choice. They hurt you.”

She starts to sob again, but it's angry sobbing now, no longer sad or pitiful. “But did you have to  _ kill  _ them?  _ God, _ Pennywise, I… I didn’t want this, I… I wanted your protection but I… D-Didn’t want them  _ dead. _ ” She hides her face in her free hand and weeps. “That’s too far, this is too  _ far. _ ”

“What would you rather I do? This is who I  _ am, _ Angel. I need to eat just like anyone else, and they needed to be taken care of. This was the only way to solve both problems.”

_ This is necessary. This is the only way. _

And just like that, she’s quiet. It starts to come up in her head like looming storm clouds with the promise of rain following shortly behind. It’s something she cannot ignore, cannot put off any longer. It’s been building up in her mind all year, ever since that fateful September day, every time the town grew quiet, every time another disappearance cropped up on the news or in the paper or by word of mouth or through those dreadful missing posters. All she had wanted was to know, all she wanted was to ask-

“W-Why? Why him?”

Pennywise is silent too. He favors her with a look of wistful remorse. 

“I didn’t… Mean to take him, my love. He was… The first one I found, when I woke up.”

That much was true, Pennywise hadn’t meant to take him at all. Had he known, had he the slightest inkling of what that boy meant to Angel and those brat children, he would have taken someone else. He would have sated his hunger on the next unfortunate child to cross his path. But there was no going back on it now. It was the luck of the draw, he supposed. But it had the potential to be the greatest test of her loyalty, for after all, if she lacked the moral fortitude to hold him truly accountable for the death of Georgie, what was to stop Pennywise from getting away with greater misdeeds in the future? Nothing, that’s what.

“When you… W-Woke up…?” She asks, puzzled amid her heartbreak. He takes her other hand, and squeezes them both as he looks into her eyes.

“Yes, my dear...” He sighs. “I live in cycles.”

“L-Like… Like a cicada..?”

“Almost. I spend many years, dormant, in hibernation. I sleep, I think, I dream, and then I wake. I feed, I return from whence I came, and then the process starts all over again.”

“...Twenty-seven years.” 

He pauses, and cocks his head. His perfectly coiffed hair bounces lightly about his face. “Yes. Sometimes twenty-seven, sometimes more.”

“I… Read about that. In that book I lost.” She says numbly. “I… I didn’t know it was… I didn’t know that you…” Tears streak down her face.

His grip on her hands is firm and comforting, and as she’s held captive by his stare, those eyes dissolve from red-rimmed gold into passionate blue.

“...Time has never meant much to a thing like me.” He admits, brushing a gloved thumb over hers. “I see more in one year than one of your kind sees in a lifetime, and it… Doesn’t strike me as all that remarkable. But…” He says, and he brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. He cups her cheek and smiles. “The  _ second  _ I knew you were coming, the moment I knew I wouldn’t have to be alone anymore, I felt… Different. Like everything I’d ever known was put in a whole new light. Have you ever felt like that, Angel?”

She doesn’t answer him, but she doesn’t take her eyes off him either. She doesn’t avoid his stare, she doesn’t recoil from his touch, she doesn’t lose her temper. She just listens.

“...I spent so much time sleeping and feeding, my love. I spent so much time doing the only thing I was ever good at, and sometimes it grew tiring, but no matter how sick of it I got, I kept going, because I knew that  _ you _ were coming, that one day you’d be by my side. I waited so long for you, darling. You were the thing that kept me going...”

There it was, the butterflies again. It starts small, like flickering embers from a long-dead fire, but it’s enough to ignite sparks of a new flame, and she feels that wonderful warmth starting to course through her veins again. But no.  _ No. _ He’s… He’s a monster. He’s… The  _ thing  _ haunting Derry. He’s the reason for all the misery and despair in the town, he’s the scourge, the  _ pestilence _ on the land. He’s… He’s the reason all the innocent children... He’s the reason that Georgie…

“...You were  _ meant _ for me, Angel. Don’t you understand? The stars have aligned just for our union. Your soul was brought into existence just so we could be together. I love and embrace you just as you are... Can you do the same for me? Can you accept me for who  _ I  _ am?”

That wasn’t fair, it wasn’t even remotely the same thing. Angel hadn’t done anything wrong, she was simply the victim of rumors and vitriol from her peers for reasons she had no control over. But Pennywise... Pennywise _ eats  _ people. 

_....But Pennywise needs to eat too. _

Stop it.  _ Stop it. _ It’s not an excuse. He could eat animals, or vegetables, or anything other than people. It’s not an excuse.

_ But what makes people any different? What makes them special? _

_ What makes  _ you  _ special? _

Fresh tears well in her eyes. She’s so conflicted she has no idea what to think. She loves him, she’s loved him practically since the moment she laid eyes on him. And he loves _her._ She’s spent the better part of a year utterly consumed in him, she had so badly wanted to feel his touch for so long, so long that it was painful. The gifts had meant so much to her, his presence had meant so much to her, his _protection_ had meant so much to her. Knowing that she wasn’t alone in such a place, when she had nothing in the world to keep her company other than a cat and a handful of kids, it had made her feel safe. It made her feel safe to know that she was somehow impervious to whatever was threatening everyone, when she herself had grown up feeling threatened her entire life. It was a feeling unlike anything she had ever felt before, it... Made her feel special. But now, all she feels is cheated. What of her fairytale, what of her perfect happy ending? Whatever happened to that, her dashing prince to whisk her off her feet? Did that dashing prince even exist anymore? He was right there in front of her, favoring her with a dreamy blue gaze, the same blue gaze she had fallen in love with, but all she can think about is the way those same eyes had looked at her down in the archives when she had found him, the way his horrific mouth closed ever so slightly to reveal them, hidden within unsightly wrinkles on his face. And what of the fate he so often spoke of? Was she simply damned to spend the rest of her life with a monster? Is that truly the best she could do? Was she so utterly repugnant that nothing else would settle for her?

“No.” He says darkly, and she startles herself out of thought. When she comes out of that haze she notices his eyes are amber again, and they glint in the darkness of the room. Almost dangerously, but... No. Never around her. That wasn’t the right word. Fierce? Protective? Defensive?

“Don’t you  _ ever  _ think you’re anything less than perfection.” He says, and he squeezes her hands again. “You are  _ radiant, _ Angel. You are the sunspot in my world, and a truly beautiful compliment to everything that I am. You were meant, _ made  _ to be my counterpart, the light to my dark, the yin to my yang, and I will not have you disparage yourself in such a way when you were made so flawlessly just for me.”

Her mouth is almost agape as he speaks, all she can think about in that moment is how she can see the passion in his eyes, the flavor of the words he speaks, something fiery and bold. All she can think about is the way it makes her feel despite all the horror and revulsion. Warm and secure and... Happy. It’s all there in her mind, the picture-perfect aspects of their relationship; the first gift he had ever given her, the second, the third, all the times he’d been there to comfort her in her grief and every single compliment, every much-needed boost to her self esteem that came straight from his lips. The nights he spent holding her and consoling her, making her feel desirable, making her feel wanted when nothing else ever had. The love and affection he had given her when she felt so low, reciprocating such passionate feelings so as to nurture and grow their flourishing bond. The vow of protection he had given her from that very first offering, how he had given his word to keep her safe, keep her and the...

“W-What about... Your promise...?” She asks weakly. For all she knew he might have forgotten about it completely, or had chosen to disregard it. She didn’t know what to think or believe anymore.

He scoots in closer to her on the bed and cups her cheek again. Their legs are touching and he’s so  _ warm. _ The look in his eyes is real and genuine, it touches her very soul.

“...I _ promised.  _ You are safe. Pennywise swears it.”

_ But… What about... _

She tries to blink back the tears but they fall down her face anyway, the sight of him fading to little more than blurred lines in her misty eyes. She can still see the sadness in his face, his brows are furrowed ever so slightly as he looks into her, and she almost wants to look away but she can’t. She  _ can’t. _ All she can do is hold his stare, exist with him in this timeless moment. How conflicted she is, but as time goes on she’s seeing less and less of the bad until all that’s there is the love, the devotion, the  _ urge _ to be with him overpowering everything else. Angel knew she wasn’t hypnotized anymore; that had long since worn off, but in its place had come a slight shift in judgment, a desire to rationalize. The will to understand. It was all so horrifying to her, what he’d done, and he’d even lied to her in a fashion, but some reprehensible part of her didn’t care. That part of her wanted so badly for things to go back to normal, for her to be able to keep what she had, to ignore this, all of this. And as time went on, that part of her was starting to slowly monopolize her consciousness, make it the only thing that mattered. How selfish, how utterly repugnant of her, to not only condone the actions of a monster, but actively want to stay with him despite those actions. What kind of person did that make her? She didn’t even want to know at this point. But despite the dissent in her mind that train of thought is starting to take precedence; the longer she sits there looking into his eyes, the longer she reflects on his words and his promise, the more at ease she feels at the thought of keeping his company. It ignites some kind of passion, a fire within her, a desperate, helpless desire and without another thought in her head she moves toward him. 

She lands on his lips again as she burrows her body into his chest, taking immediate comfort and security in the way he embraces her without hesitation. He’s kissing back, he’s chasing her every breath and she loses herself to it, loses herself in his scent and the sound of him, the rolling growls that shudder through her like an earthquake. Her lips tremble as she clings to him, her eyes are squeezed shut as she follows through on this earnest and spontaneous display of passion. Pennywise is all too eager to reciprocate, deepening it as he takes her head in his hands and pulls them back onto the bed again. Every kiss is met by another in quick succession and they keep feeding into one another until the world around them is dizzy and delirious. It almost seems as though she is helpless, cornered prey being swallowed whole by a vicious predator but there is an equal give-and-take between them, minutes ticking by quickly as they offer themselves up to the capricious pursuit of absolute pleasure. She’s pushing it all away, she’s choosing not to think about any of it as she flees toward the protection of her guardian angel, toward the sublime sensation of warm, wet lips against hers and the promise of more delights to come. For better or for worse, she’s trying to create her own bubble now, a replacement for what had been so tragically lost, convinced in her own frantic mind that the only possible way to cope with what had been done is to simply pretend that it wasn’t there. Disregard it, brush it aside, ignore it. Ignore it just like everything else. She is merely a passenger on a raging river of denial, letting the current of the rapids carry her safely over jagged truth and reality. She coasts along smoothly, opening her eyes to a lush blue sky and feeling the wind flit through her outstretched fingers, but then her raft hits a snag. It jarrs her, throws her off course, and the momentum almost tosses her mercilessly to the crags but she clings to the security of what’s familiar, the security of what’s comfortable and reassuring. She almost thinks she’s in the clear until that massive realization capsizes her again, and she comes up from the water sobbing, choking and coughing as she shivers on the beached remains of her shelter. And there is the sun, bright and inviting as always, to offer her warmth in her most desperate time of need. Pennywise does not attempt to try and preserve the moment. He does not try to talk her out of her own emotions. He just takes her into the breadth of his arms, simply shushes her gently.

“...I juh-just w-want.. All this, to g-go away...” She weeps quietly into the silk. “I just... I juh-just want...”

“Shhhhhh.... Shhhh, my poor, sweet girl... It will all be okay...”

There in his arms she falls asleep, feverish sobs ebbing away into sniffling silence with time as he croons her softly to sleep. She tries to believe him. She tries so hard to believe him.

**~~~~**

The first thing she realizes when she wakes up that next morning is that her head hurts. The second her eyes flutter open and she’s brought back into the waking world, it's the throbbing, dull ache in her temples, that ever-present pain that’s not enough to be excruciating but just enough to be a constant nuisance. She’s not perplexed as to the onset of this pain; she remembers last night. She remembers how she felt, how she spent the better part of an hour crying herself to sleep in his arms in the hopes that if she tired herself out she might feel better about it in the morning, might be able to deal with the horrible news and just move on from it. No such luck so far. She nuzzles into the plush softness of her bed with a groan. Pennywise is gone as always, but he’s left Pepper and a mound of pillows in his place, and as she looks down at the doll’s vacant, felt-detailed expression she can almost feel him looking back into her. Studying, calculating, examining her tear-stained face and blood-shot eyes. She doesn’t know how she feels about it, so she places the doll back on her shelf, pops a couple ibuprofen, and tries to forget about it.

Sunday was a day Angel spent trying to forget across the board. It was all there now, out in the open, and she couldn’t ignore it any longer. Pennywise... Pennywise  _ eats _ people. He’s the one responsible for all the missing children. He’s responsible for Patrick, he’s responsible for Georgie. And... He’s also the thing Angel has spent the better part of a year loving and idolizing. Her protector, her guardian, her almost sole source of happiness. The thing that brought her out of one of her worst depression funks by far. He’s spent so much time showering her in affection and gifts, building her up, enriching her life. He’s given her reason to hold her head up higher everyday instead of cowering in the safety of the shadows. He’s given her fulfillment in an area she’s felt painfully inadequate in her entire life, nursed wounds that she thought terminally untreatable. And he seemed to do all of this out of nothing more than love and passion for... For his  _ mate. _

_I will not tolerate any threats to my mate._

As she thinks about it, a low, churning nausea settles in over her stomach to compliment her headache. Pennywise had... Pennywise had _ killed _ for her. She... She was the reason behind a handful of the disappearances. The thought made her positively sick. She hadn’t asked him to, it hadn’t even occurred to her that... That he... She’s shaking like a leaf as she watches TV, trying so desperately to put it out of her mind that she’ll settle for anything. The channels offer her no solace, it’s simply news and static. She doesn’t even touch Channel 27, knowing that she simply couldn’t bear to see his face, not right now. She didn’t want to see him, she didn’t want to feel him, she didn’t want to hear his voice. She knew if she did all her thoughts would suddenly become real again, and she couldn’t cope with that. Not right now.

She tried to pass the time in other ways but found that everything she tried, she was reminded of him. She’d sat down at the dining room table to draw with her favorite Edward Gorey book (Amphigorey Too), but found that the illustrations contained within struck up too much of a resemblance to Pennywise’s shapeshifted forms in her mind. So, finding her appetite for art soured, she turned to cooking next to sate another, but realized far too late that, in her absentminded haze, she’d started making shortbread, the very first thing she’d ever given to him to sample. She then abandoned the dough to the fridge for the time being, and took up a pencil with an old legal pad to do some writing, but all the words that would come to mind conjured images of him, images of his tall, imposing stature, images of his fiery red hair and remarkably striking golden eyes,

**_(images of razor-sharp teeth and a long, gapingly huge maw snapping up the lifeless carcass of an innocent boy)_ **

She’d shaken her head, shuddered, and simply put the pad away. She couldn’t even, for the life of her, take her trumpet out, because it had been him that inspired her to take up playing again after so much time in the first place. He was the reason she had the confidence to finally improvise again after letting the sword rust for so long in its scabbard, he was all the encouragement and the only audience she needed to come back out from hiding. But not now. Now he was a deterrent to all these things. Now, against all odds, he was the antithesis of all that had coaxed her out of her shell. This revelation made her want to hide again, and this could not bring her greater displeasure.

She had eventually given up on all creative endeavors for the day, choosing instead to take to the grocery for some shopping in an effort to take her mind off of things. When she’d gotten dressed, she avoided anything that reminded her of him, wouldn’t even look at the chocolate box that housed all his dozens of offerings, would instead keep her eyes mostly rooted to the floor while she was getting ready. She’d left behind her pearl heart and black silk sweater, even her bell necklace and had closed her closet door so as to avoid the judgment of all the clowns on her shelf, staring at her with eyes much more critical in her mind than ever before. In the past she’d liked to pretend that Pennywise could see her through the eyes of those figurines, keeping a protective watch over her from far away, but now the thought simply made her queasy. She doesn’t look at herself in the mirror before she leaves; she couldn’t afford the inevitable self hatred that would come at even the sight of her own face now. She simply moves on, shutting her bedroom door behind her. Mayor Jello meows at her melodramatically when she strides into the living room but she doesn’t pay him much mind. He could be rather attention-seeking sometimes, and right now she didn’t have any attention to spare.

The grocery turned out to be no more comforting than the walls of her house, as it would seem no mere change in scenery could assuage the racing thoughts in her head. Angel perused the shelves in a way that could only be described as tense and strained, half-expecting his voice to invade her head, an arm to pop out from behind a shelf to wave at her, phantom hands stroking down the curves of her body as they had so often done before. But no such occurrences. It was actually rather quiet and undisturbed at the store today; usually there was a crying child or a stingy customer making a scene at the registers, but by all accounts it was actually rather tranquil and still. This turned out to be a curse rather than a blessing for her, as with all the lack of noise, Angel was rather confined to the disquiet inside her head, no immediate distractions to demand her focus and take her away from the pressing moral dilemmas plaguing her consciousness. She tried so earnestly to forget it, counting the tiles on the floor in front of her, humming along to a tune of her own imagining so as to occupy her mind with something else. It actually seemed to be working so far; she felt it all melt away from her thoughts for the time being, and she had kept it up even as the people around her scrutinized her with muted disdain. One thing could definitely be said for all of Pennywise’s encouragement and praise, and that was that, slowly but surely, Angel had moderately regained her ability to shrug off the condescension of those around her. So she kept her head up, humming still along the way, but her humming tapered into self-conscious silence when she realized what her melody had transitioned into without her notice.

_ Oranges and lemons _

_ Say the bells of St. Clements... _

She clears her throat and falls into the unsettled quiet once more, reaching for a bag of chips off a shelf. When she places them into her cart the plastic crinkles against the metal lattice, but in her mind she almost thinks she hears those familiar bells jingle along with it. She looks around, almost paranoid, but there’s nothing. No one. As she finishes packing her groceries into her backpack, she totes the cargo home, trying to use the fresh air to her advantage in yet another ill-fated effort to relax. She’s still conflicted, torn to the bone, as even with all her efforts to banish him from her conscience a part of her is still pining for him. She wants his lilting, lullaby voice, his gentle, soothing touch, she wants him to come back to her. As much as her rational mind was glad for the absence, there was that pesky, emotional side of her mind that wanted more than anything for him to return and bring with him that warmth, that comfort that had brought her back from utter despair and misery. She tries so hard to quell it, push it down, knowing that now wasn’t the time to be emotional. Now wasn’t the time to be rash or illogical, she needed to think about this, all of this, carefully. It hadn’t even been a day, for Christ’s sake.

But she couldn’t deny the oddity of his lack of presence, couldn’t deny that it certainly was strange of him to be so quiet. He’d gone positively radio silent on her. For the better part of half a year, he hadn’t let her know a moment’s peace in such delightful ways. He had been lavishing her in love and attention ever since that epochal Valentine’s Day eve, had progressively increased his presence in her life until he was with her everyday practically from start to finish. He had almost insisted on it, even as Angel would bashfully ask if she was getting in the way of anything else he had to do. He had always insisted. Why then, was he so worryingly nonexistent now, even as one day turned into another, and another after that? He hadn’t come back the following Monday, or the Tuesday after that. He hadn’t been holding her hand on the way to work or whispering to her whimsically through her shifts, hadn't been visiting her in the evenings or singing her to sleep in his arms. She tried to tell herself that she didn’t want him to come see her, she didn’t want him to show his face after what he had done, but there was that frustrating little part of her again, crying out for the comfort of his embrace. As she lay in bed at night she would try so hard to cozy up to her pillows and forget it all, but she’d wind up tossing and turning all night long. And all the while she would be waiting for that moment to strike, when he would come back to her and she’d be faced with that moral dilemma once more, the one she’d so cravenly chosen to shirk that Saturday night in his arms. She truly didn’t know whether or not she would run to him if she did see him; she didn’t know how she felt, even after it had been all she’d been thinking about for days on end.

She knew how she  _ wanted _ to feel. She wanted so badly to feel the anger, the righteous fury at having been lied to. She wanted to let it well within her and bubble over the surface; she wanted to explode. He had courted her for so long, garnered so much of her trust and dependence, and he had left out the one crucial little detail that might give her pause. As far as she was concerned, she was well within her rights to be angry. But she couldn’t be. Despite this, despite  _ all  _ of this, Angel wasn’t that kind of person. It didn’t make her any better or any worse than anyone else, but it definitely wasn’t an advantage either. Angel rather hated herself for this quality, for… Not being able to stand up for herself and her feelings. It made her feel spineless, it made her feel weak. But at the end of it all, it was something she couldn’t help any more than she could help herself breathing. She had been hurt, and she wanted to return that hurt, but she couldn’t. No… Pennywise had hurt her, and he had hurt so many others, but she couldn’t bring herself to hurt him. It was something ingrained that she couldn’t rightly explain.

She kept telling herself she needed to get a grip, that she needed to move on from him. As the days progressed and his absence persisted, she would tell herself this with increasing desperation, that she was better off without him and that she didn’t need him to live a fulfilling life. She had wanted it all to go away, hadn’t she? Maybe he’d listened to her, maybe he’d given her what she asked for. He had helped get her back up on her feet, and she had enjoyed the brief time they’d spent together, but now the time had come for her to find something else to help ease the pain of living. It was an agonizing thought, sure, but perhaps it was the stark reality of the situation. It had been all she could think about for days as she continued her routine; as she ate, slept, and went to work it was the only thing on her mind. While at first she had started out paranoid of finding him following that… Unfortunate revelation, she was growing increasingly unnerved by his disappearance, and now more than ever that emotional part of her was starting to weigh heavily on her conscience. She… She wanted to see him.

As time went on, something else curious had made itself apparent. The disappearances had stopped. Angel had been wary at first; the first week of his absence she had chalked up the downward trend to timing, knowing full-well that occurrences in the past seemed to crop up anywhere from within a few days of each other to more than a week at times. The longest gap amounted to a little less than a month with no missing children to speak of. There was no conceivable pattern to it, it almost seemed erratic at times. Angel hadn’t known what to make of it back when she didn’t know the truth of the situation, and now she could only surmise that Pennywise’s hunger must fluctuate depending on his mood. Come to think of it, there seemed to have been far less disappearances when Angel was in an especially bad way. Things seemed to stagnate during those weeks, and would almost appear to tick back up again once she found herself in better spirits. What made things different now, however, was the feeling of it all. It was something in her gut insisting to her that none of it was the same as before, that something had changed. She could only liken it to those weeks leading up to Valentine’s Day, when she’d been so utterly scared and isolated and cold that she had cried for him. This was like that, but the absence of warmth was getting to be that much more soul-crushing. The lack of disappearances seemed to communicate to Angel one thing, and that was that  _ Pennywise wasn’t here. _ Pennywise was gone.

_ Maybe he was dead. _

No, she can’t even let herself think that. Despite it all, despite what he’s done and what it’s done to her, she _ still _ can’t wish such a thing on him. It’s so frustrating that she wants to scream. Reasonably, Pennywise is a thing that deserves to die. He causes death and pain and suffering; he’s a blight, a _ plague _ to Derry. He lied to her through omission about who he was, so he must surely know that his actions are despicable, right? 

_...Well, no. _

Despite her own mental resistance she starts to entertain a different train of thought. Pennywise has lived for an amount of time she can’t rightly account for, he’s seen an incalculable number of lifetimes and experienced more than she could ever possibly comprehend. He has… The properties of something otherworldly, something… Possibly alien. He’s… Not even close to human. Why then, is she trying to hold him accountable to human standards, human behavior? What gives her any sort of right? Pennywise is... Something different. He’s clearly some kind of apex predator, something higher on the food chain. She wouldn’t disparage a tiger for eating a rabbit so, in the same vein, how could she disparage him for feeding in his own way? Maybe he didn’t tell her who he was out of fear, fear that she wouldn’t understand. Maybe his intentions really  _ were _ good. 

_ No. _ No. _ He eats people. He’s a monster. _

But he needs to eat too. That’s all she keeps telling herself.  _ This is necessary. This is the only way. _ Humans are no more special than any other animal on the food chain, and this is what he eats to survive. She needed to make peace with that or it would drive her insane. So what if a few children, a couple adults here and there went missing? It’s not as though he’s picking off the entire population. Most of the kids in Derry were little shits anyway.

_ But do they really deserve to die for that? Did those kids in the library deserve to die for what they did? _

She didn’t know, she didn’t know the answer. She didn’t know as she continued her shifts everyday, didn’t know as she did prep work in the kitchen alone or watched TV or as she laid in bed contemplating all the various angles of her situation. She couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop thinking about him. What he’d done, what it had meant, if he would come back. She didn’t know. And it was starting to hurt her. She’d shrugged it off before, or tried to. When Pennywise had gone silent, she’d first interpreted it as him giving her space, breathing room to process what she had discovered. She’d thought he was giving her a break from it all, but as each day passed and his absence became more prominent she started to fear that may not be the case. She feared that her reaction might have put him off, that it made him want to leave. That, in a sick, twisted way, he was giving her what she had asked for. She would try so hard not to cry when she thought about it. What if she had scared him off? What if she was too hysterical to deal with and he’d simply gotten sick of her? It sure as hell wouldn’t be the first time she’d been abandoned over such things. What if he really  _ didn’t _ love her? What if he never had?

It was sick and wrong, but as days turned into weeks the atrocity she bore witness to was slowly de-escalating itself in her mind. It was as though the seriousness of the situation grew more and more dull the further away it got from her mind’s eye, and now all that was left were the bits and pieces she could vividly remember. She remembers it, the creaking in the steps as she walked down to the archives, the old, dusty smell of the room pervading her senses, the way she had froze in place when she laid eyes on it for the first time. But she also remembers the sweet words, the gentle, soothing touches, and his  _ eyes. _ The way he’d looked down at her and how she felt so warm, the way she couldn’t breathe when he’d said those three perfect words to her for the first time. Now more than ever she could remember those things, comfortable memories in such a desperate time of need that soothe her in her unbearable loneliness. Memories of what they had been together ever since that first bouquet of sunflowers, ever since she had first laid eyes on him on that silly little television show and fallen in love with him. She clung to it all and let the rest fade away.

As the month of June progressed, Angel had abandoned any notion of trying to ignore his gifts and inversely began to hold on to them with increasing desperation. She thought of them as her last lingering connection to him, and out of desolation insisted on keeping at least one of them on her person at all times. Again had come the aura of unease, the feeling of some kind of vague and imminent danger, and she needed the illusion of safety to keep her from insanity. So she’d brandished her belief in these so-called good luck charms, the good fortune imbued in all these little offerings, and used them to make herself feel secure. Without the explicit protection of Pennywise to keep her out of harm’s way, she had to be her own guardian angel now, and that meant holding herself up straight regardless of everything that might try to beat her into the ground. She held on to her bell necklace in a vice grip and wore it just about everyday at this point, starting to hope that Pennywise’s intentions in this gift might hold true, that he was there with her regardless of her absence simply because she wore it, that she thought of him as she did and kept him in her heart. She wore her silk sweater every evening when she came home from work, would imagine his hands trailing over her form as the cool fabric clung to her curves.

She took Pepper with her everywhere she went. The doll had admittedly become something of a comfort object for her in the same vein as Pennywise, who had been a comfort character for her in the throes of a deep depression in the past, back when his only concrete existence was through the syndication of the Derry Children’s Hour. The doll brought her a sense of tranquil ease. Every time she looked into its whimsical googly eyes she would feel warm inside; it wasn’t the same warmth as what she would feel with the otherworldly presence of Pennywise, but it was an acceptable substitute for the time being. It certainly helped her to feel more at home in some uncertain and unfamiliar terrain, and even instilled in her something of a strange maternal feeling, an instinct she couldn’t put words to. She wanted to look out for the doll and make sure nothing happened to it; it had, after all, been a dear gift from Pennywise, it could even be argued that it was something of a surrogate child of some kind, something he had given to her to better emphasize her role as a possible... Mother to his children. Despite the hopelessness of the current situation she allows herself some small amount of contentment at the prospect, finding that she rather liked the idea of possibly starting a family with him. It was a happy thought that kept her dread at bay, kept the residual thoughts of the revelation of his true identity in the back of her mind where it belonged. But it was not without its own share of melancholy, as it only seemed to accentuate his current absence and make her further in tune to her own feelings on the matter.

As the days wore on she was progressively starting to become consumed with thoughts of him at every waking moment of the day. It was starting to get to her, truth be told. She was far past the horror of finding out who he really was, had even started to let go of the anger she wished she could feel and the betrayal of having been lied to. It had all been replaced with worry, with concern for his absence, with longing for what had been lost in the process. She wanted to feel his touch once more, wanted to find him waiting for her when she walked in the front door after a long day at work. She wanted to hear his voice and sway with him in his arms, talk with him, laugh with him. She wanted the old days back of laying with him in bed, cuddling until the exhaustion of the long hours finally overtook her and she fell asleep in his hold. She wanted to kiss him and feel his lips against hers, wanted to drink in the sublime sensation as she demonstrated her purest love and devotion to him. The nostalgia alone was enough to erase all the negativity from her mind and brainwash her all over again, except this time it was all of her own doing rather than the pull of his cosmic influence. As awful and wrong as it was, she wanted him back. She sometimes ruminated on the state of her own personal morality for such desire, knowing who he was and what he had done, but in her loneliness she didn’t care anymore. It made her irrational. It made her blind to everything else. She even thought it romantic now, the prospect that Pennywise had protected her from those boys, from Patrick and the shopkeeper, and found that she rather liked the idea of being impervious from the danger of all that would threaten Derry. It only made her yearn for his presence even more.

It was getting bad now. She worried for him, she  _ feared _ for him. Where had he gone?  _ Where had he gone? _ There was nothing but silence in Derry now, the disappearances had stopped, she heard nothing from the Losers, she was all on her own. Though the peril of the beast had become nonexistent, she felt ill at ease nonetheless as she carried out her business from day to day. While she was concerned for Pennywise she was just as concerned for her own wellbeing, knowing that if anything happened to her now she would likely be helpless to stop it, would be left at the mercy of anything that wished to attack her, another Patrick or more of the same ilk as those nasty boys. She missed him terribly, so terribly in fact that she was beginning to talk to him now, often out loud or in her mind as she carried out her tasks or as she watched TV at home. She would ask him where he was, how he was doing, if he was safe. It was a compulsion she couldn’t rightly control, it was an impulse, an instinct. She knows she has no reason to worry for him; Pennywise seemed to be a relatively powerful creature, so some part of her doubted that he was dead, but she mourned his absence all the same, sick with distress at the thought that he could be hurt. She wanted to be with him, she wanted to look after him, she wanted to keep him _ safe. _ It’s been weeks, June is winding to a close, and she could not feel more isolated, more powerless. It’s starting to wear on her mental health and she’s getting worse again. She kept talking to herself, kept neglecting her health. She was begging him to come back to her, but still she hears nothing. It seems as though he might have abandoned her completely.

It’s on the precipice of July now, and Angel could not be more miserable. It’s worse than it was just before Valentine’s Day,  _ exponentially _ worse. She’s feeling abandoned, she’s feeling lost and worried sick. She can’t bear to reach out to the Losers, she doesn’t want to bother them. Besides, what could she honestly say? How would she even begin to explain herself and her situation? She was all alone in this, she knew that. All she could do was try to cope, but that was getting harder by the day. Work was grueling, being at home was even worse, as she had very little to do that didn’t remind her of him. When she wasn’t talking out loud to him, beseeching him to come back, deluding herself that he was somehow listening she spent her time sleeping, trying to waste away the hours in an attempt to pass the time painlessly. But it was getting bad, oh yes it was. She was so plainly wretched now, so battered and beaten by his disappearance that she could do little else but pine for him. She cried for him every night now, as she laid in bed she would start to sob into her pillows, hug them tight to her chest and heave shuddering little whimpers in through her nose and out through her mouth. She was starting to get an urge again, a nasty one, a terrible, dreadful, awful one, one she hadn’t had in ages, and it was taking everything she had not to succumb to it. But the days grew harder and harder still, and on the 2nd of July, a Sunday, she truly couldn’t take it any longer. 

She’d come home from errands that day positively exhausted from having put on a face during the duration of the outing; she lets the facade collapse and mutters brokenly to herself as she walks dejectedly through the front door once more. She kicks off her Doc Martens and sets down her bag, and just like that the tears well in her eyes again. It seemed like all she was doing was crying lately, and she felt weak for it but she couldn’t stop nonetheless. She berates herself for it, she _ hates _ herself for it, she wants to do something nasty and abominable to herself for being so weak and spineless. No, she wouldn’t kill herself. She was much too cowardly for such a thing. It was much too permanent an action, and Angel feared the permanent. So she reaches for something else, something in the form of a sharp little cutting tool stashed away in the depths of her bedside table drawer, something she often used for making patches, but something she used more often still for a deed she never spoke of aloud. Something horrid and appalling, something disgusting and vile that was best kept hidden. She felt she deserved it, felt she deserved the pain and the shame. She wanted to feel the catharsis of it, wanted to feel the stinging of it, an action so disgraceful that she would drown in the self-hatred. As she sits in the living room, trembling and anticipating the feeling of what’s to come, she lets the silence of the room turn to static in her ears as she hikes up the front of her shirt and brandishes the instrument close and with intent against her stomach. A single tear drops from her face onto her thigh and she’s about to make the first cut, but then there’s a knock on her front door. She stops, puzzled. Who could that possibly be? Numb, she stashes the tool underneath one of the cushions on her couch and pauses at the door, then takes a deep breath and opens it. The Losers are there, all six of them, and they look serious and grim on her front stoop.

“C-can we come in?”

She doesn’t know what to say.


	21. Encounters

When she sees them there she’s puzzled but immediately relieved. It’s as though their mere presence is enough to alleviate all of her troubles, if only for a short moment. She’s comforted at the sight of them but they each wear a look of grim on their young faces, bringing her back down again to reality once more as she wonders why they could possibly be here. Bill is the clear leader among them, standing in the middle, and the rest of them follow shortly behind his shoulders. Angel pauses in the threshold of the doorway, her eyes lingering on each of their solemn expressions until she snaps out of it. She moves aside, waving her hand at the living room.

“O-Of course, of course you can.” She tries her best to act normal, like she wasn’t just on the verge of a mental breakdown just moments earlier. She strides into her kitchen and starts to make coffee, wanting to occupy herself while they were talking in an attempt to ground herself more. Her hands are shaking. They all file into the room, sitting down on the couch and the adjoining loveseat. 

“T-Thanks Angel.”

“No problem. Is uh… Is Bowers messing with you guys again? Why the long faces?” She asks nervously. Angel was empathetic to a fault, she could feel bad energy. And this was bad, bad energy indeed. It made her feel sick for reasons she couldn’t explain, and some part of her knew it wasn’t those punk kids that brought them here. She just knew.

“N-No, not exactly.” Bill says quietly.

“We’ve been… Seeing things.” Eddie explains.

“Things?” She asks. “Nightmares?” She places coffee grounds into a filter and sets it to brew.

“More like visions.”

“Visions?”

“Yeah.”

They’re all silent for a time, appearing to decide amongst themselves who will go first in elaborating, and then finally all eyes land on Stan. Stan swallows, then starts to talk. “A few weeks ago, my dad hung up a new painting in his office, some lady with a flute. Said it was by some famous painter… Amedeo something.”

“Modigliani?” Angel suggests.

“Yeah, that’s the one. That painting… Well, it kind of freaks me out. Something about her face just isn’t right, and her eyes are… Fucking  _ soulless. _ Just looking at her gives me the creeps. I hate going into his office now, because it always feels like she’s staring at me.”

“I can get that, I was never too fond of his work myself.” Angel sighs. “Anyway?”

“Anyway, I’ve been practicing lately for my Bar Mitzvah, it’s coming up pretty soon. I have to read from the Torah and give a speech, so I’ve been studying the book in my free time. When I’m done… I always put the book back in my dad’s office. And every time I do, I have to look at her face.”

“So just turn the painting around.”

“I tried that, but my dad got mad at me.” Stan admits. “Said he put it up in there for a reason. But…” He sighs. “When I went to turn it back around again, I swear it winked at me.”

“Is that it? Because that could very well be a trick of the light, Stan, it’s very dark in there.”

“That’s what I thought. I… T-tried to just forget about it, but I ended up having a nightmare that night. I can’t remember much about what happened, but I know she was there. And I… When I jolted awake, I couldn’t move, no matter how hard I tried. I was starting to panic, and then I saw a shadow at the foot of my bed. It looked just like her, it even had her eyes.”

“It sounds like you had sleep paralysis, Stan.” Angel says, pouring herself a cup of coffee. She stirs in some milk and sugar cubes. She takes a sip. “That happens a lot. I’ve even had it once or twice.”

“It wasn’t sleep paralysis.” Stan insists. “I’ve  _ had _ sleep paralysis before, this was different. It felt different. Felt like there were… Hands… Holding me down. I only got out of it because I blacked out again.”

“I think you might have just imagined it, Stan.” Angel says. She masks a pang of muted concern behind another sip of coffee, drowning it in the warmth of the fragrant brew until it settles again. It had to just be sleep paralysis. Right?

“I don’t think he was imagining it, Anj. I saw something too.” Eddie says solemnly. All eyes fall on him now. “I was walking home from school one afternoon a couple weeks ago, when I stopped in at Keene’s Pharmacy to get my meds refilled. It was taking an awfully long time for them to finish up with my prescription, so I went across the street to kill some time. When I came back, they still weren’t done. In fact, there wasn’t anyone behind the counter, not Mr. Keene, not Greta. No one. In fact, the store itself seemed completely empty.”

“Keene’s is usually a deadzone though.” Richie says, having helped himself to a snack cake from inside Angel’s pantry.

“This was different. It felt… Cold, in there. Like, so cold it burned. I rang the bell, thinking maybe someone was in the back or something, but I didn’t see anyone. Then, I heard something fall on the floor behind me, a bottle of pills from one of the shelves. When I turned around there was this…” He gags and pulls out his inhaler, then takes a long indulgent puff. “This… _ Disgusting  _ man, he looked like a… Like a leper.”

“I didn’t know we had lepers in Derry.” Angel muses. She finishes her first cup and pours a second. 

“I didn’t either! I mean, we  _ don’t!” _ He exclaims. He takes another puff from his inhaler. “The most we have are a couple grungy hobos! But this man… He was like… Like a walking infection. He had sores and shit all over his face, one of his eyes was all crusty and he was drooling all over the place. He tried to grab me and I ran for the fucking hills.”

“Did you get away?”

“Yes, but he chased me down the street a couple blocks. The weird part is, no one seemed to be paying attention to me or the leper. It was like neither of us even existed, even as I ran down the street screaming they still didn’t notice me. I felt like I was in purgatory.”

“So you got chased by a leper.” Angel frowns. “Well, I grant you that’s definitely disturbing, but I wouldn’t really call it a vision.”

“It was! He disappeared! I ran down Up-Mile-Hill and tripped, and when I looked back he was suddenly gone, like he never existed in the first place. And that’s not even the kicker! When I got home I took out my med tracker, and the thing was full of pills. I never picked up my fucking refill, Anj.”

She’s desperate to remain skeptical. “Okay, well… Ben, what about you? You have any spooky ghost stories to regale us all with?”

“More like a spooky mummy story.” Ben corrects with a sigh.

“You’re kidding me.”

“Nope.”

“Well, let’s hear it.”

“Okay, well, one day I was outrunning the Bowers gang, and I managed to lose them down in the Barrens.”

“Feat of the fucking century, sounds like.” Richie remarks. “How on earth did you manage that with all your…” He gestures vaguely around his stomach and Ben shoots him a look of disdain.

“Beep beep, Richie.” Beverly says, glaring at him and then giving a compassionate nod to Ben. He smiles faintly, then continues.

“I lost them in the trees, and then I heard something rustling around me. I thought they might have found me, so I started to run again, but I tripped over something. When I got up and turned around, I could see… Bandages lying all over the ground, draped over tree branches and stuff. It was like someone decided to TP the Barrens. And it all led up to this… Figure standing up against a tree not too far away. It looked vaguely like a mummy I’d seen in a movie before, but he had a bouquet of red balloons in his hand for some reason. Seemed like they were floating against the wind.”

_ Red balloons? _

Angel starts to feel things coursing through her that she found conflictingly pleasant and unnerving in the same breath. It was a feeling of familiarity, a feeling of some kind of relief, but it was also a feeling of niggling dread and concern. She doesn’t speak, she can’t find any words. Her mind is simply swimming with hypotheticals now, ones she couldn’t even put coherence to yet.

“He was talking to me. Said something… Weird. He said I would… “Float with the rest of them” or something, but I have no idea what that means.”

“I heard something like that.” Beverly says with a frown. “I went to take a bath the other week and I heard voices coming from inside my sink. They sounded like… Children. One of them said his name was… Patrick Hockstetter I think.”

Angel perks up at the name, that feeling of apprehension slowly giving way to subdued alarm now. P...Patrick Hockstetter? But he… He’s…

“He went missing, didn’t he? I remember because it happened right after Halloween.” Richie says, unwrapping a second snack cake. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy, honestly.”

“Yeah. It was the talk of the town for like a week.” Stan says, hugging one of Angel’s decorative couch pillows to his chest. “And then everyone forgot again, just like they always do.”

“I think they were all missing.” Bev remarks uneasily. “Tommy Hoffman, Jenny Baxter… Betty Ripsom, Ed Corcoran… I remember seeing missing posters for all of them.”

“Did you see anything weird, or was it just voices?” Angel says, inexplicably finding her own again.

“I peeked down into the drain to see what the hell might be down there, but I couldn’t see anything. Then something…  _ Red  _ starting welling up. Like blood.”

“It t-took us… Half a day to get that all c-cuh-cleaned up.” Bill finally speaks up.

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you guys tell me? I would have helped.”

“We didn’t want to bother you.” Richie explains. “You’ve been acting a little… Off, lately. We figured you were stressed out from work or something so we just… Dealt with it ourselves.”

“Oh.” Angel says, trying not to sound offended, and in the same vein, trying not to acknowledge outright that she had, indeed, been acting rather strange lately. She couldn’t very well explain to them why. She was too far down the rabbit hole, and now there was no turning back from that. All she could do was play along and feign ignorance. It was getting hard to at this point, there was no denying that, but she had to make a spirited effort regardless. She tries her best to process all that she’s being told, and some part of her doesn’t want to believe any of it, but knowing all she’s seen and experienced she simply can’t afford to brush any of it off. The only thing that was new about any of this now was that she wasn’t the only one.

“What did  _ you _ see, Richie?”

Richie stops in the middle of a third snack cake and swallows uncomfortably, though he tries to feign indifference. He looks at Angel, and then at everyone else, and then he looks down at the floor.

“A clown.”

Her heart skips a beat in her chest. She stops drinking her coffee and puts it down.

“A… A c-clown.” She says, numb.

“Yeah.” There’s a pregnant pause, and then Richie admits loudly. “Okay, so I’m not… The  _ biggest _ fan of clowns. Go ahead and make fun of me all you want, but I think they’re fuckin’ creepy.”

“No one’s making fun of you, Rich.”

“Something about their faces, man, I don’t like that I can’t see who they really are underneath all that fuckin’ greasepaint. I don’t trust it. I was playing Street Fighter at the arcade the other day, and I was kicking ass like usual, but then I started to get that funny feeling on the back of my neck like I was being watched, you know? I tried to ignore it, but it wasn’t going away. No matter how many times I looked around I couldn’t find anyone staring at me. Fuckin’ freaky, right? It was like there was a ghost following me around. But then when I came out of the bathroom, I saw him. He was peeking out of the photo booth at me, but then he went back behind the curtain again. I knew it was him that I felt looking at me, I could just  _ tell. _ ”

“What did the clown look like, Rich?” Angel asks, something vaguely somber in her voice.

“I didn’t get a very good look at him the first time around.” He says, polishing off the rest of the third snack cake. “But I saw him again. He kept coming back. Every time I thought I’d forgotten him, he’d just come back. I’d see him out of the corner of my eye, but every time I looked, he’d be gone again. He was… Wearing a big grey suit with red pompoms down the front of his chest and he had red face makeup that went like this.” He demonstrates, drawing a line from the corners of his mouth up above his eyebrows.

Angel might as well have been stark white at that point. “Did you happen to get a name?”

“No, I didn’t want to  _ talk _ to the fucker.”

“Why, have you s-suh-seen him before?”

She shakes her head quickly, deflecting the question. “...N-No.”

“I swear to god I could hear him laughing too, but it was like it was in the back of my head, like it was right behind me.” Richie continues. “It was like… Like…”

“The night we h-had that sleepover.” Bill finishes. He doesn’t elaborate, because everyone knows exactly which night he’s talking about. He’s the most serious of them all, and Angel can feel something like pain emanating off his form. There’s another long, still silence, and she breaks it with a simple question.

“...What about you, Bill?”

He appears numb, just as much as she. He blinks slowly, his stare flickering from the wall onto the floor. No one interrupts him, or presses him to talk. They all simply wait. It seems as though an eternity passes there in the space of the living room, and then when Bill finally speaks, he doesn’t stutter.

“Georgie.”

And just like that, it’s the final nail in the coffin. She knows now, beyond the shadow of a doubt. It was something she could feel the second they had come into her house, but she had tried to shove it down in the recesses of her mind, disregard it, ignore it. It was something she had hoped for so ardently for the past month, something that had been on her mind constantly ever since that terrible, unfortunate revelation of weeks ago. But she hadn’t wanted it to come to light like this, not in such grim and ominous circumstances. She’d wanted the fairytale ending of hoping so earnestly for his return that he would come back to her, that she would cry out for him one more final desperate, tear-filled night and wake up in his arms once more. But it would seem that wasn’t the case. No, all these stories seemed to make clear to her one discomfortingly sober realization, and it’s one that almost chills her to the bone. Pennywise is here. He never left.

“Georgie?” She asks. He nods slowly. “Oh, Bill…”

Everyone is still silent. Beverly is rubbing his back with a careful and delicate hand and he quietly continues. “I… C-Couldn’t sleep last night. I… haven’t been able to s-s-sleep very well ever since… Ever since it happened but… For some reason he was all I could think about and I couldn’t put him out of my m-muh-mind. I went down to the k-kitchen for some milk so I could try to forget about it and go back to s-sleep. But he…” He trails off into silence, his stare flickering back up from the floor onto the wall again. Angel can see he’s trying to blink back tears welling in his eyes. “I saw him… Run across the kitchen in his… Stupid yellow rain slicker… Down into the cellar. I followed him, but when I got d-d-down there he was… G-Gone.” He chokes back a sob and rubs his eyes, and everyone regards him with wordless respect, giving him the space he needs to conduct himself in his own time. He sniffles and takes a deep breath. “That’s why we c-came here.”

“We wanted your advice, wanted to know if maybe… You knew anything.” Eddie says.

“Yeah, the other adults in this town don’t know shit.”

They all look to her hopefully, and all Angel feels is uncomfortable. She wants to come clean right then and there but she knows she can’t. How could she possibly justify having been in something of a relationship with the thing that’s been tormenting them? And worse still, how could she possibly justify… Wanting to go _ back _ to it? She misses him, she misses him terribly, she has ever since he left her. So much so that she almost can’t register a single thread of genuine concern for them in this moment, or process the revelation of what seems to be a broken promise. All she feels is concern for him, concern and overwhelming worry. He was out there, he had been this entire time. And he hadn’t been eating. Was he starving himself for her? Was he acting out in this way as a means of gleaning some small nourishment from their emotions? She hadn’t any official confirmation, but Angel had suspected for quite some time that emotions had something to do with the way he fed. He… Liked to scare people before he ate them; he’d done it with Patrick Hockstetter, and she was sure he’d done it with countless others. Surely that factored into his process somehow. Or maybe, he was simply coming after the children out of spite, for having been rejected in a sense. Was this all because of her?

“I’m… I’m sorry.” She says finally, and she can see them all deflate just a little. She feels terrible, but she can’t tell the truth. She just  _ can’t. _ “I’ve been… Worried about all the disappearances too, but I haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary.”

Richie sighs. “Maybe it’s just a kid thing. Monsters under the bed or some shit. Can’t get to you because you’re not scared of the dark.”

“That could be.” Angel says. “You said the other adults haven’t noticed anything either?”

“My dad didn’t notice the blood in the bathroom.” Beverly says, offering up an example. “Just walked right through it and left a bloody trail all the way down the hall on his way out.”

“That’s… Odd.” Angel says, but it’s not really all that odd to her. She’d been noticing for quite some time that people in Derry seemed patently oblivious to anything outside the ordinary. In fact, up until this current meeting, she thought she’d been the only one in tune to all of Pennywise’s meddlings within the town. She thought it was because she was special. Did that mean the kids were special too?

“Yeah, I thought so.”

“What can we do about it, though?” Eddie asks.

Angel appears thoughtful for a moment. “...Get ice cream, that’s what.”

“Ice cream?”

She finishes her last cup of coffee, and then sets the mug in the sink. “Yeah. You kids all need a break, sounds like. How about we all walk over to the Rite Aid for Thrifty?”

“Now?”

She’s already putting on a flannel. “Yeah, now. What, did you think I meant tomorrow?”

“I don’t know I just mean… What if we run into Bowers? He likes to hang around town in the evenings.” Eddie says worriedly.

“Then I’ll take care of him.” Angel assures them. “Now, come on, get up. All of you.”

They all get up, one by one, and quickly gather their things, following Angel out the front door. The last one out is Ben, who shuts it behind him. There are a storm of bicycles littering her front yard but she pays it no mind, she simply walks down the path from her front door onto the sidewalk, leading the band of Losers behind her like the pied piper. The way over to Rite Aid is mostly quiet aside from Richie making the occasional snide remark, and none of them can detect the shame and guilt dripping from Angel as she walks ahead.

**~~~~**

He lets the green double doors shut behind him and takes a glance at the watch on his wrist. 3:04. He should probably be getting home by now, he’s sure his grandfather will probably be on his case if he isn’t back in time to help with supper. He has a long walk back, and he’s sure he’ll have already missed the majority of the prep work by the time he returns. He checks that he has all his belongings on him before he sets out, rifling through his book bag to make sure. Yes, it was all there… Pens, pencils and erasers in a plain-looking clear plastic pencil box, a textbook or two for his studies, a binder containing all his notes and homework, an old album of photos he’d been reviewing, and most interesting of all, a couple new selections from the Derry Public Library. No, these weren’t any run-of-the-mill, garden variety picks from the shelves. Though it was true he’d always liked to read, he’d always thought of the activity with something of an agenda in mind. He liked to learn things from books; reading things he already knew was of no use to him. No, this was for research. Research he’d been doing for quite some time, for the better part of a year in fact. He looks forward to dissecting the new information when he gets home, of being one piece closer to the end of the puzzle. He didn’t know how many pieces there were, but Mike intended to find all of them.

The day is rather hot, but still pleasant in a sense. The warmth of the sun is like a blanket around his shoulders. Summer has come to Derry in a tepid fever, sweeping over the town like a dry and arid fog that permeates the parched air. It’s lessened considerably now that the afternoon has come, and though Mike can still feel the sun beating down on his back he continues on his way dutifully, stopping from time to time only to admire the vernal scenery, foliage in full maturity that’s flourished in the summer season. The surrounding environment is a warm and amiable conversation of greens and yellows; the sky is a calm and tranquil blue. Mike finds himself getting lost in it as he continues along, finding shapes and stories in the clouds overhead as he strolls down Kansas Street toward Route 2. It’s a relatively long and straight path to the Hanlon farms, it usually takes about an hour to trek home from the library. He could’ve taken his bike, but the truth is he rather enjoyed the walk; it was a choice on his part really. It was a trip Mike made only about once a week, however, when he would sojourn all the way over there in an earnest quest for knowledge and insight into the strange inner workings of the town. He’d wondered about it all for quite some time, his interest having been piqued from an old photo album his father had kept, the very same contained within his satchel. In it contained some very interesting photographs to corroborate stories he’d been told about places within Derry, places that met rather unfortunate and unlucky ends. The disappearances in the town didn’t help matters, so Mike was rather compelled and inspired to look into it, knowing the library would be a good place to start. He’d always been a rather curious child, always looking to expand his understanding of things in the world. It just so happened that Derry was odd enough to warrant exploring.

He’s consumed in thoughts about all that he’s found so far, ruminating on it thoughtfully as he continues his way home. His eyes are still in the clouds, following the curves of the mist in the sky as he treads along, book bag slung over his torso and hands in his pockets. All he can hear is the sound of his shoes scraping against the sidewalk and his own meandering thoughts, his focus lazy as he strolls idly along the path ahead of him. Kansas Street is a seemingly endless avenue, he can’t even see the end; it stretches off into the distance and disappears over the immediate horizon. Derry in itself seems infinite; for such a small town it’s remarkably full of history, history he never tired of learning about. He’s surprised it never occurred to him earlier to research it considering the stories his father had told him growing up. It was a dark history to be sure, but one rather interesting nonetheless, and he was further drawn in the more that came to light about it. Mike found it all confusing in a sense, the thing he was discovering; pieces of it simply didn’t make sense, and there were peculiar little tidbits and factoids he just didn’t understand. He was sure all of it would fall into place in time, but right now all he could do was simply speculate.

He’s about half of the way down Kansas Street now, and off in the distance he can start to see the Barrens. It was a place he never particularly ventured into; he had not a motive to go down there really, and no friends to speak of that he could explore it with. Mike was something of a lonely child, that came with the gig of being the homeschooled kid, but truth be told he didn’t mind it so much. Some part of him rather preferred to be left to his own affairs, it kept him out of trouble. As he looks into the sky he can start to see a gaggle of birds overhead, he can tell they’re great and black but they seem rather small to his eye given the considerable distance. They circle above in an ominous ring, like something is almost dead, rotting beneath their watchful stare and they’re simply waiting for the ripe opportunity to swoop in and take their decaying bounty. Some part of Mike is vaguely unsettled by the sight; he wasn’t… The greatest fan of birds, largely owing to an incident when he was pecked by a crow at six months old. It was a very early memory, one he barely remembered, but it was traumatizing enough that it stuck with him through the years through a fear he could hardly explain. The birds are far enough away that he doesn’t worry too much at first, but a peculiar sight only makes him stop dead in his tracks. 

There’s a bird among them that seems bigger than the rest of them; it appeared closer than the pack and boasted visibly different plumage. While the majority of the birds sported black feathers, this one had a grey, almost taupe coloration, one he didn’t reckon he’d ever seen before. And it seemed to be flying ever closer; it was getting bigger, it was descending slowly like a spider on a gossamer string of web. Mike takes up his pace again, unconsciously quickening it as he goes, caught up in something of a paranoid delusion that it might be following after him. He tries to tell himself that simply couldn’t be true, that he was just imagining things, but that early memory of the crow nags at the recesses of his mind and he’s further compelled in his attempt to evade it. His legs grow sore as he continues along but he doesn’t stop for a considerable stretch. He only slows once he’s convinced he’s surely lost it, or at the very least he puts it out of his mind long enough to forget about it.

But forgetting it seems to be a fool’s errand. He thinks he’s finally out of the woods when something suddenly grazes his head from above, and he cries out in alarm as he ducks and loses his balance. He falls backward onto the ground and looks frantically into the sky, and sure enough he can see the bird from before. Its swooping back around to make a beeline for his head once more, followed shortly behind by a string consisting of the rest of the circle. They’re moving fast and with pernicious intent, the intent to maim, the intent to peck him apart. It’s then that Mike starts to run, breaking into a sprint as he makes his way down Kansas Street, book bag jolting at his hip with each stride. There are hardly any people crowding the thoroughfares, there usually weren’t at this time of day. Still, it's remarkable to note that none of them seem to take notice of this great spectacle, simply continuing along in their own personal commutes and leaving Mike to his frantic escape. He continues his mad dash down the sidewalk, dodging continued swipes from the birds as he goes, looking back over his shoulder to observe their movements in a calculated attempt to anticipate their increasingly aggressive attacks. He can hear them screaming out in ominous caws, battle cries that make the blood pump feverishly through his veins. He’s delirious now, can’t even think to process why this is happening, all he can do is try to evade it and ask questions later. All he knows is that he needs to survive it, whatever this was.

Once the scenery from the town fades into the rural countryside, Mike sidesteps onto the path leading into the Barrens, circumventing the pursuit of the birds as he does so even as they make irrational diving swipes at him and his book bag with their razor beaks. He slides down the rocky hill on unsteady feet, not stopping for a second to check if they’ve ended their chase; he simply skids down as fast as he can in an attempt to escape their apparent wrath. He can hear them continuing to squawk overhead, the sound of them appearing almost like deranged cackling as he makes his way downward and regards the trees around him as he does so. He doesn’t know where he’ll even go, truth be told, he’s just thoughtlessly running, running, running and trying to evade them. It seems endless, the trajectory he’s taking, it seems like it will never end, like he’s fleeing down an eternal corridor to nothing. Though he’d never been down in this neck of the woods before he’s sure it can’t possibly be this long of a journey towards the Kenduskeag; it’s almost like something cosmic beyond his control is mocking him, trying to deter him from getting away from this impending threat and insuring that he meets a fatal and grisly end. How terrified he is, the memory of the crow from his infancy coming back to haunt him now, and he’s dizzy with cold fear despite the heat of the sun beating down on him from above. He finally sees the end of the hill leading down into the river, the Kenduskeag below, and he intends to make his way across and into the far end of the Barrens toward the Old Cape. He was surely far away from home now but he didn’t care, all he cared about was outlasting this. The water is cold as he rushes into it and he drinks in the sensation gladly, finding it to be a balm that alleviates how overheated he is now. He crosses to the other side of the river and keeps running. He can’t hear the birds now but he’s unnerved rather than relieved. He doesn’t trust it, so he keeps running.

As he flees through the trees on the far end of the Barrens, his pace starts to slow once he thinks he’s finally in the clear. It slows from a sprint into a run, and then a run to a jog. He eventually comes to a stop to catch his breath and to examine the sky above for any traces of them. They seem to be gone. He breathes a ragged sigh of relief, wheezing and coughing and waiting for his heart rate to slow again as he looks up overhead to discern any remaining threat. The adrenaline is still fresh in his blood, he’s still woozy from how terrified he is and he can almost see his heartbeat pulsating in his eyes. But finally he’s lulled into a sense of wary security, his shoulders slumping from their rigid placement. All sign of them is gone now; he can’t hear them, he can’t see them, they might as well have never existed in the first place. It was almost as though they were all of his own imagining, some sick, twisted fantasy that his mind dug up from some distant nightmare world. The rush of the chase is finally over and Mike feels he can finally relax, so he takes one final sigh and turns back to make his way homeward again. He makes his way toward the rocky bank near the river, and he’s about to make his way across again when he stops dead. He can hear rustling in the trees behind him. He makes the mistake of turning, and he’s tackled to the ground by a threat he doesn’t yet register. He hits the rocks with a thud and his vision blurs. Once it clears he can see what looms above him, and it's a sight that makes his blood turn cold.

“What’s going on, homeschool?” Henry Bowers sneers from the top of him. Victor Criss and Belch Huggins naturally accompany him, three rotten peas of the same pod. They stand behind him with sick grins on their faces. “How’s it going?”

Mike grunts, immediately trying to squirm out of his hold but Henry is older, he’s bigger. He’s stronger. Still, he puts up a struggle, his fight or flight response kicking in as he abandons all immediate rationality. All he can think of is trying to get away from this new threat.

“Quit moving, you sack of shit!” Henry spits, and the shrapnel of his rotten breath hits Mike in the eye. Mike complies out of nothing more than paralyzed fear. He’s shaking.

“...We saw you running through the Barrens, thought we might check in, see if you were okay.” Henry says, satisfied with Mike’s fearful obeisance. He looms closer. “Because if you are, we wanted to change that.” He doesn’t wait for Mike to speak, striking him across the face with a brutal punch. He can taste blood in his mouth but still he doesn’t dare to speak up, he only cries out in pain.

“Hit him again Henry!” He can hear Victor call. Henry obliges with a second strike, knocking Mike’s face into the rocks. 

“What’s wrong, pussy? Fight back!  _ FIGHT BACK! _ ” Henry yells, demented and plainly unhinged. He hits Mike again, and again, and again until his vision is starting to get blurry again. Henry leans back for another punch and Mike uses that opportunity to try and get up, knocking him back as he scrambles backward. But Henry is too quick and tackles him to the ground again. Victor and Belch circle around him like buzzards, like the foul birds in the sky that had almost picked him to pieces and he’s  _ afraid. _ He can see the cogs start to turn in Henry’s brain and then, amid Mike struggling futilely, he can see him reach for a rock at the side of his head. It’s then that he starts to really clamber to get away, he’s thrashing like a mad bull, trying so hard to deter him that he can’t think straight. He’s so dizzy he can almost see the bird in Henry’s face, so mean and angry and full of malicious intent that it scares him. And all the while Henry is screaming at him, calling him vile and disgusting things while his friends cheer him on and even join in the harassment, kicking him and spitting on him as the mad assault continues. Henry is uncompromising and dogged in his pursuit of violence; Mike’s struggles only seem to spur him on further and it frightens him beyond all reason. Henry is raising the rock high, he’s about to bring it down onto Mike’s face and mash him to a bloody pulp when something suddenly strikes him across the face and knocks him off into the dirt.

“HEY!” A voice yells. “PICK ON SOMEONE YOUR OWN FUCKING SIZE.”

“The  _ fuck? _ ” He can hear Belch, nonplussed and plainly confused at the sudden presence of something or, rather, someone across the way.

He looks up, puzzled but relieved at the sight of six other children with an adult among them in the middle, favoring the Bowers gang with a collective glare. Mike wastes no time, he scrambles into the river and towards the bastion of the group standing on the opposite side of the Barrens, glancing back to observe Henry getting back up in dazed fashion, blood dripping down the side of his temple. It appears a rock has justly struck him in the head and now he’s stunned, appearing not to immediately process what’s just happened. But Mike had already made his way towards the other side, climbing up towards them and the security of the circle they present. They all quickly arm themselves with more rocks.

“Perfect timing as usual.” Henry remarks with spite, rubbing his head and looking at the residual blood on his hand. “Can’t go one day without sticking your nose into other people’s business, can you, you miserable fucking dyke?”

“Can  _ you _ go one day without harassing little kids? Because I think that’d be real fucking impressive.” She fires back angrily. She tosses the rock up and down in her hand. “I’d go home if I were you.”

“Or  _ what? _ ” Henry snaps.

She rears back and throws another rock and it hits him square in his jaw. He stumbles back again, rubbing his cheek with fire in his eyes.

“Yeah, eat that, you fucking chodesmoker!” Richie yells. And from then it begins.

It's hard to tell who threw the next rock; they seem to rain down on the gang in a flurry. Bowers and his goons immediately start to reciprocate once they get their bearings, arming themselves with an arsenal of their own and launching them at full force towards the kids in their own attack. Each of the Losers are deploying a barrage of jagged bullets, one after another, and it’s seven against three, impeccably good odds for their cause. Mike eventually finds his way up off the ground and joins the ranks, finding his bravery emboldened by their unexpected defense and now seven becomes eight. He fires a few rocks of his own and even hits Belch a couple times. There is a chorus of grunts from either side as they send away their ammo at top speed, and it seems to go on forever in a veritable war waged by two opposing factions; the bullies and the bullied. Angel is firing the most bullets by far, harnessing an armful of them at a time and throwing several with each swipe of her arm. Though it seems the Bowers gang is getting a leg up on the progression of this great battle the tides slowly but surely turn again and the Losers have the advantage once more, firing more rocks than the three of them can reasonably keep up with until Henry gets knocked to the ground again. He’s still throwing rocks but his trajectory and force is considerably weakened, and Victor and Belch are starting to get worn down too from having been hit one too many times. Finally they start to fall back; Victor and Belch are starting to withdraw, stumbling backwards onto the path behind them and Henry is suitably beaten into the ground. The rain of stones gives way into tense silence as the Losers stop lobbing shots at the weakened gang and step back a few paces of their own. They appear to carefully calculate their vanquished foes and their movements, discerning that the fight has surely reached its end as Henry stares vacantly into the water before him, Victor and Belch retreating more and more with each passing second. The Losers breathe heavy, labored breaths as they study their cowering forms, and they start to finally walk back into the underbrush once they find the ranks of Bowers and his thugs suitably cowed by the altercation. Only Richie lingers behind, to deliver one last, stinging insult.

“Go blow your dad, you mullet-wearing asshole!” He yells, and brings up two defiant middle fingers at them.

The walk out of the Barrens is rather quiet. Angel is leading the gang through the trees now, bringing them towards the way they came from, and in no time at all they’ve crossed back onto Kansas Street from the Kenduskeag Trail. They make their way back to Angel’s house as quick as they can in their winded state, the sun still beating on them overhead as they stride up Kansas Street and onto West Broadway. There are no more enemies to best in childish combat, simply streets occupied by only the occasional oblivious passerby, and their stride is brisk but tired as they meander along. It’s a long way back but they make quick work of the journey, simply wanting more than anything to seek refuge following their great and arduous battle. They’re mostly wordless, still catching their breath; not even Richie has any witty repartee to offer. Mike is the first one to speak, finally breaking the long and considerable silence to express his gratitude.

“...Thanks guys, but you shouldn’t have done that.” He says, still breathing heavily. “ He’ll be after you guys too now.” 

“Oh, no no no Bowers? He’s always after us.” Eddie says flippantly with a wave of his hand. 

“Always has been.”

“Sadistic little freak, that one.” Angel agrees. “Glad we got to you in time, he looked like he was about to make mincemeat out of you.”

“Yeah.”

“I guess that’s one… T-thing we all have in common, though.”

“Yeah, homeschool.” Richie says amiably. “Welcome to the Loser’s Club.”

Mike smiles.

"Thanks."


	22. Puzzle Pieces

“So what the fuck happened to you?” Richie asks loudly once they’re all safely within the confines of Angel’s living room once more. “You look like you just cheated death. I mean, I guess… I kind of understand, given the fact that you ran right into Bowers, but still.”

Mike sits down, accepting a mug filled with cold water from Angel. He sets his book bag aside and drinks it down gladly.

Eddie appears to be fishing something out of his own bag, which turns out to be his trusty first aid kit. “You need any bandages, Mike? I’ve got plenty, and I’ve got Neosporin too. We should probably treat your cuts before they get infected.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Mike says, gratefully taking the supplies that Eddie hands to him. He deposits a small dot of Neosporin onto his finger, applies it to a wound on his forehead, and adheres a band-aid there. He starts to work on applying a second as he speaks. “I just got out of the library.” He looks at the clock, which now reads 4:58. “...Well, I got out about a couple hours ago anyway. I always go on Sundays, usually around noon. I like to walk there because I enjoy the fresh air, helps me keep a clear head.”

“So far you’re losing me.” Richie says, mock yawning with a stretch.

“Don’t be rude, Rich, he just got the stuffing beat out of him, least you can do is let him tell his story.” Angel chastises him, then regards Mike with a curious glance. “I didn’t know you went to the library, Mike. Never seen you around before. Of course, I don’t work weekends, so that’s probably why.”

“Yeah, I don’t go during the week, I have school.” Mike explains. “My grandpa is pretty strict about not letting me miss days.”

“Understandable, I suppose.” She says, leaning on the island in her kitchen.

“Anyway, I was at the library, checking around to see what new stuff I could bring home. They only let you check out a couple things at a time though, so I had a hard time deciding what to pick. I wanted to continue my research, so I asked the librarian to help. She wasn’t… The friendliest.”

“She never is.” Angel remarks dryly.

“But in the end I ended up getting a couple things that were really interesting.”

“Like what?”

“Yeah, what w-were you researching?”

Mike pauses, gesturing with his hands for them to wait as he opened his book bag. “I’ve been researching the town. The history, I mean.” He rifles through the contents carefully. “Have been for a while, the better part of a year actually. I started because of an old photo album my dad had, had a bunch of really cool pictures of places in the town that don’t exist anymore.”

“Like where?” Ben asks, scooting in closer next to him to look. 

Mike extracts the photo album from his bag and opens it up to a random page. “Like here, see? The Kitchener Ironworks.” He flips to another. “And the Black Spot.”

“What’s the Black Spot?” Stan asks.

“The Black Spot was a nightclub that was burned down years ago by that racist cult.” Eddie explains. 

“The what?”

“Don’t you watch Geraldo?”

“Yeah, my dad told me that story too.” Mike remarks. “Said an old friend helped him survive it.”

“No shit, he was _there?”_

“Yeah.”

“ _Fuck_ , man.”

He closes up the photo album and puts it back in his bag. “So I checked out a couple things from the library and started to make my way home, but while I was walking along I saw these… Birds, circling overhead.”

“Birds?”

He nods. “ _Big_ birds. Looked like crows, I could tell even though they were far away. But there was this other one, bigger than the rest, and it chased after me, kept trying to peck me. I tried to outrun it in the Barrens, and while I was trying to get away I ran into Bowers. Thankfully you guys found me, though.”

Angel is silent for a time, and then she speaks up again. “...What books did you check out, Mike?”

“Just one book, and something from the archives.” Mike answers, reaching into his book bag again. “A scan of the charter that made Derry, and this-” He says, holding up his selection for all to see. “Found it half-hidden behind one of the bookshelves, thought it looked pretty interesting.” Angel’s heart stops in her chest.

_A History of Old Derry._

She hadn’t any earthly idea how it had ended up back in the library, how long it had been there, or how on earth Mike had managed to find it, but there it was in his hands regardless as though it had never gone missing in the first place. She’s patently puzzled, the static shock of the familiar sight that had caused her so much grief falling over her like a bucket of ice water. Suddenly a curious realization comes to her, and she makes the surprising connection that whenever she’s had to make returns to the archives, it was surely as a result of Mike always checking things out on Sundays. She’d simply not known; after all, Angel never worked weekends. Still, she’s flabbergasted, and she hardly knows what to say.

“My research kind of started out of personal interest, but as I kept reading and, you know… The disappearances kept happening in town, I started to realize it was kind of a mystery.” He continues. “I read a lot of census data from the town, and I noticed that all the major deadly events in Derry’s history seemed to happen three decades apart.”

_27 years._

“I wasn’t able to find out much after that, so I gave up for a while. Then today I checked on a whim and found that book.” He says, putting it back in his bag. “You know, it’s a little funny. I almost felt like that bird didn’t want me to have it. Like it was stopping at nothing to make sure I didn’t get away with it.” He laughs, but the rest of the group is suddenly somber and quiet.

“...What did the bird look like, Mike?” Stan finally asks.

Mike appears puzzled at their abrupt seriousness, but he obliges in answering the question anyway. “Different from the rest.”

“Different how?” Bev asks, cocking a curious eyebrow.

He scratches his head. “Well, for starters, it wasn’t black like the rest of them, it was grey. Beige even, but not quite. Grey body, dark red chest. I didn’t get a very good look at first, but once it started trying to attack me, I got a few quick glances at it.”

Everyone listens to him speak, appearing to hinge on his every word at this point.

“It really had it out for me, I’ve never seen a bird so angry. It had these… Mean yellow eyes.” He explains. “Overall I thought it looked pretty strange, but I didn’t think to question it at the time.”

They all glance around at each other wordlessly. Ben breaks the silence again with a frown.

“My mummy had yellow eyes.”

“The leper did too.”

Richie pauses, and then remarks uneasily. “...So did the clown.”

Despite her every attempt to remain composed and impartial, Angel starts to feel her blood running cold now. She squirms where she sits, she bites her lip and starts to root her stare to the floor in front of her. She’s quiet and the color begins to drain out of her olive face. It takes all of her strength not to fess up to everything on the spot; who he was, how she knew, why she had been acting so strange lately, what that meant for her and the rest of them. All she can do is just stay silent, feign ignorance, let them come to a conclusion on their own, and hope to god they didn’t figure out that she was connected to any of it. She feels guilty that she knows of the eyes they speak of. She feels guilty of how often she had looked into them for comfort and solace and respite from her sorrows. She feels guilty that she hadn’t found them near as sinister or off-putting as the kids described, that they were nothing less than beacons to her lost, shipwrecked soul. They were stars, they were blistering novas that never lost their warmth. They were the eyes she fell in love with.

“It muh-must all be the s-s-same thing.” Bill says quietly.

“You think?”

“Yeah, it has to be.” Stan says grimly. “I don’t… I don’t think any of this was a coincidence, you know? Either there’s something here or we’re all crazy.”

Angel is staying quiet, wringing her hands in her lap as she listens to them deduce the situation. She should be the adult here; she should come clean, she should tell them everything she knows because it will help them, it’ll give them an advantage. It might even stop them from getting themselves killed. These are the kids she’s almost watched grow up and she loves them dearly. They’re not only friends to her, but they’re almost something of surrogate siblings as well. Maybe they’re even a little bit like her own children. Hell, she takes care of them often enough. She should do anything and everything in her power to keep them out of harm’s way, but it seems her maternal instincts have gone kaput now. She’s not thinking rationally at all; her mind is swimming with just one insistent train of thought. One thing, one thing only plaguing her head, screaming at her until there’s nothing but static. Based on what she knows, based on what she’s found out, the choice should be easy, it should be clear as an azure sky of deepest summer. But nothing is ever that easy. It’s just not. She doesn’t know what to do.

“Is… Is there anything else you know, Mike?” Bev finally asks, crossing her arms out of concern and insecurity. All of them seem to be heavily invested in the answer to this question. Even Richie. There’s a pregnant pause in which Mike seems to be mulling over what he wants to say, the rest watching him carefully as he does so. The lot of them wear the same stark expression; Angel tries to match it in a poor attempt at subterfuge but she ends up looking more like she ate something dubious than anything else. 

“Well… A while ago I checked out a scan of the Derry Sewer System.” He explains. 

“Why?”

“No particular reason, really.” Mike admits. “I guess I just grabbed it because it was there. But I was cross-referencing that with a map of Derry I had and… I noticed something… Strange.”

“Strange?”

“H-How?” Bill asks, his tone grim.

“Strange because… Everywhere _it_ happens, it’s like… It’s connected by the sewers. Every single major event in Derry’s history, like the Kitchener Ironworks explosion, the Black Spot, the sewers run right through them on the map. And all the tunnels meet up at one place.”

“Where?”

Angel comes up with the answer in her mind before Mike speaks it aloud. _29 Neibolt Street._ It comes to her almost like a dream in her conscious mind, seeds planted in her head that have ripened within seconds into rotten spoils for her to pick. It was something she just knew, an answer she simply had for no reason other than she was meant to have it. That’s where Pennywise is. _29 Neibolt Street._ She sits there, motionless and inert, but every bone in her body screams at her to get up and run. Run and not stop until she found him, until she laid eyes on him again and… She’s not sure what she would do when she did. Would she leap into his arms? Would she confront him about what he’s done, about what he’s doing now? Would she simply forget it all in the span of one warm lingering gaze, and only beg, beg, beg for him to take her back? She didn’t know. She didn’t know what to do.

“29 Neibolt Street?” Eddie clarifies quizzically, making a face like a sour taste was left in his mouth.

“Isn’t it that creepy ass house where the junkies and hobos like to sleep?” Richie asks.

Angel didn’t know the house for such a reason, and had in fact almost zero real awareness of it prior to this year. It was a place so far on the outskirts of town that she had no reason or opportunity to explore it, and her parents often forbid her from going to that neck of the woods anyway. Didn’t want her wandering off too far for fear that one day she might never come back. Derry was, after all, a dangerous place to live sometimes. Angel had spent most of her days so far staying relegated to the uppermost to central region of Derry, and all she knew was that there were bits and pieces of decaying Derry history lying about to be found by any eyes curious enough to seek it. It seemed the Neibolt house was just such a piece of history, and she knew it not from artifacts checked out from the library, or hearsay, or firsthand experience. No, Angel knew it from her dreams. The dream she had had that dour New Year’s Eve night, when she had found him waiting for her. The dream where their hands had touched for the first time, when Pennywise had whisked her into a fond embrace and given her the first taste of his tender affections. The dream where he had kissed her.

She starts to feel guilty all over again. She _did_ want to see him. She wanted to see him so badly, so much so that it hurt her. It was wrong, and frankly condemnable, but she wanted more than anything to feel his touch again, to hear his beautiful, lilting voice. She couldn’t even find it in her heart to ask of him all the questions she quite rightly deserved to ask, like why he had lied to her about who he was, why he had disappeared after telling her, why he was acting out in seclusion without returning to her, and acting out in such an awful way at that. In this moment she didn’t even… Care what he was doing, didn’t care that it should be shaking her to her core, that it should fill every fiber of her being with roiling fear and disgust. She doesn’t care about anything except for him. She wants to know where he is, how he’s doing, that he’s safe. He’s… He’s a monster, but she can’t help it no matter how much she tries. It’s an instinct, and one that’s so ingrained that she can’t fight it. She misses him, she wants him back. She loves him.

“Wait, Bill, what are you--”

She snaps out of her thoughtful haze and notices that Bill has gotten up from the couch. He’s standing on two resolute feet, and he’s armored with bitter, steely-eyed resolve.

“...I need to g-go there.”

Five words that make the room fill with dread. They’re all flabbergasted and immediately the dread turns to earnest attempts at dissuasion.

“Are you _crazy,_ Bill? Do you want to go missing too?” Richie asks incredulously, also getting up.

“I have to.” Bill says, maintaining a stony disposition. 

“Bill, you… You _can’t._ ” Beverly says urgently.

“Yes, I _c-can._ It’s… It’s where G-G-Georgie is. I juh-just know it.”

Oh, Georgie... The boy that started this whole mess. Where would they all be now if he simply hadn’t gone missing? What if it had been someone else, anyone else? Would they have cared even a fraction as much? Would they go out of their way to do anything? Hard to say. Angel is silent as the tension starts to mount within the room. She knew what happened to him. She knew and she wasn’t going to say anything. Just what kind of person did that make her? She fights back the nervous nausea that bubbles up in her gut and remains quiet. Just… Just let the kids figure this out on their own. They were smart kids, surely they’d know that this would be biting off more than they could collectively chew. They would surely come to the unanimous conclusion that this was best left to someone else, that they should just leave well enough alone and mind their own business just like her. But… She thinks with a frown. They were also _good_ kids, too good not to speak up, too good to simply let such injustice go unaddressed. Too good to let any of this slide without a fight, too loyal to their own ranks to let such a threat encroach on their safety. That scared her.

“Why would Georgie be there, Bill?”

“I d-don’t know.” He says, looking at them all with unflappable certainty. “But that’s where… _It_ is. The thing that’s cuh-causing all of this. I need to do something about it, I need to… I need to g-go there.”

“You can’t go alone, you’ll get killed.” Beverly insists.

They’re all silent now and the tense dubiety in the room is thick and palpable. It seems as though an eon passes there in the house, and the cheerful summer light outside is misleading and inappropriate to the dark atmosphere of their grim conversation. It's suddenly Bill against the rest of the world, and he’s intent on his stance, he won’t back down. Then, out of nowhere, an unexpected voice interjects from the quiet.

“...Fine, then I’m going with him.”

Nothing on earth could have prepared anyone for this turn of events. They turn towards the source of the sound with utter bafflement. Richie smiles, appearing to revel in everyone else’s confusion. “What? Maybe we can kill the fucking thing. You in too, Eds?”

Eddie appears caught off guard. “I don’t know…”

“C’mon, man, don’t be a wuss.”

“...Fine.”

“That’s three.” Richie says with a grin, patting Bill on the back.

Angel is becoming increasingly more alarmed. This isn’t what she wanted. This was the furthest thing in the world from what she wanted. She’s trying so hard to remain calm, stay quiet, but it’s getting harder. She wanted so desperately for them not to do anything that it was killing her to keep up the facade. She’s shaking like a leaf as she watches them, unable to do anything else but pray frantically for them to abandon this fool’s errand. But it seems wishing them to leave this behind was a fool’s errand of its own. She knew that.

Beverly is the next to get up off the couch. “Alright, then I’m in too, we have a better chance of killing it the more people are involved. Ben?”

Ben hesitates, but rises nonetheless at the mention of his name. “Okay, I’m… Count me in too I guess.”

Mike doesn’t wait to be addressed, he stands up next. “I know I just got here but… I want to come too. Count me in.”

They all turn. “Stan?”

Stan is quiet and twiddling his thumbs, appearing to glance around at them all nervously, like he’s weighing the different options in his head, indecisive and unsure. They’re all fixing him with a long, expectant look, waiting with bated breath for him to give in and join the ranks but he remains silent. He’s still on the fence it seems, as even with goading from the lot of them he still doesn’t want to give a final answer. It seems peer pressure finally seeps into his head, and he succumbs to the badgering after one plea too many.

“Fine, fine, I’ll… I’ll go.” He says, quietly and sheepishly. Richie pulls him up off the couch and into a one-armed hug.

She’s the only one left sitting now. She wears a weary, sober look as they all turn to regard her with hope and a sense of child-like optimism. She’s heartbroken by their call to action for reasons she’s ashamed of, and she doesn’t want to crush their morale but helpless blood in her veins screams out for something she can’t explain, the instinct to defend, an urge to protect. They can see it in her face; they look deterred now and she hates it. She hates to be the reason for any hesitation among them, for she knew that that hesitation could very well mean the end of them, but nevertheless she can’t wipe that look off her face, that look of sheer, cold dread. She speaks, finally having found her voice again.

“...I… Don’t think it’s a good idea.” She confesses quietly.

“Huh?”

“What?”

She speaks a little louder now, but her voice is still timid and mouse-like. “I don’t think… You should go. _Any_ of you. It sounds dangerous, and I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Richie is confused. “C...Come on, Anj. You _live_ for this kind of stuff.”

The rest of them start to speak up in a chorus of their own confusion, each of their voices lending weight to their collective argument. Bill’s voice cuts through the rest like glass, and his words wound her to her core. 

“D-Don’t you want all of this to s-suh-stop too…?” 

“I do!” She exclaims, trying her best not to cry and fumbling madly for excuses. “But we can’t just go down there like this, we need more information!”

“What more do we need to know?” Richie asks incredulously. “Mike told us everything, and we’ve all seen this thing. We know it’s out there, and there’s way more of us than there are of it. I think we can take the bastard.”

Everyone unanimously agrees, but Angel is still resistant. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” She stutters insistently.

“ _Why?_ ”

It’s Bill, and he’s angry. “ _Why_ are you being like this?”

Angel is quiet, shrinking ever so slightly from the latent hostility brewing in the room now. He refuses to back down. He continues and he doesn’t stutter once.

“Ever since we met you, you’ve been nothing but a role model to all of us. You’re always standing up for what’s right even when it gets you in trouble. You’re fearless Angel, it’s why I’ve always looked up to you.” They’re all nodding in silent agreement. “So… Why don’t you want to do something about this? I know it bothers you. I know that… Georgie disappearing… That broke your heart too. Don’t you want to kill the thing that did it? Or at least look it in the eyes and ask why? Because I do.”

“I can’t let you do that!” Angel blurts out desperately. The thought of them… _Killing_ him… It’s… _It’s…_

“ _Why? Why not?_ ” Richie asks frustratedly, just as angry as Bill now. “Jesus, Angel, this isn’t like you! You’ve been acting so fucking weird the last few months! What crawled up your ass and died, huh? You used to be fun!”

She stares up at them all, mouth agape, angry tears building in her eyes. She doesn’t know what to say, she’s simply speechless. She doesn’t know how to explain herself, she just sits uncomfortably on the couch, feeling the cold numb start to work its way in through her toes as she tries to organize her stampeding thoughts. She couldn’t let them kill him, she just _couldn’t._ Despite it all, despite everything he’s done and all that he’s doing now, she just can’t fathom the thought. It makes her sick to her stomach. So she won’t allow it. She clears her throat, thick with fear and sickened distress, and holds her ground. She knows that her words will mean little to them right now with such resolve in their minds and bodies, but she needs to make her thoughts on the matter clear. She was the adult, wasn’t she? She needed to act like it and stand firm. There was simply no other option.

“I don’t want any of you going near that house.” She asserts with a stony severity. “I don’t want any of you getting killed because you decided you all wanted to stick your noses in something that wasn’t any of your fucking business.”

She looks at all of their faces, but she studies the likes of Bill, Eddie, Stan and Richie most of all, the children whom she’s grown the closest to in the past several years. These children… She’s practically watched them all grow up, and for the longest time she dreaded doing anything that might hurt them or put any of them in harm’s way. And yet here she was. They all look so betrayed and it hurts her, but she doesn’t falter nonetheless. The anger and detriment is apparent in their young features, they all look wise beyond their years in this moment and she can feel the bad vibes simmering in the room like a foul, malodorous stew. She reciprocates with a tempestuous look of her own, staring them all dead in the face as they engage themselves in a silent battle of wills, and she almost thinks they’ll finally back down until Bill slings his bag over his shoulder with a furious finality.

“I’m going.” He asserts bitterly. “Either come with me or don’t, but you can’t fucking stop me.” He strides brusquely over to her front door, swings it open, and slams it behind him.

Beverly is the first to run to the door after him. “Bill!” She calls out worriedly, and her voice fades into the distance as she closes the door behind her too. There’s a silence between the rest of them and Angel is frantically willing them to stay where they are, not to abandon her in this moment but Richie is the next to go. Eddie goes with him and they both shoot her a look channeling anger and concern. Stan runs out after them, not to be left behind. Only Ben and Mike remain, and they both quietly favor Angel with a look of guilty remorse before going to join the others outside. Angel sits, frozen on her couch, unable to fully process the full ramifications of what’s happening, what’s going to happen if she just sits there doing nothing. Her mind is a terrified blank until thoughts of Pennywise start to bleed back into her consciousness, and then suddenly it’s all coming back to her like a vengeful migraine, hell on her battered senses. She starts to think of him, backed into a corner, unable to fully defend himself. What if he refused to, out of loyalty to the promise he made her…? She gets up, dizzy and frantic, and throws her flannel back on, entertaining thoughts against her will that he might let them do whatever they pleased to him, let them take their anger out on him, and all because of her. She can’t let that happen. She _can’t._ She treads forward from her couch on heavy feet, practically running to the door, but when she opens it she’s met with an empty lawn. The bikes are gone, and so are they.


	23. The Neibolt House

The sound of metal scraping against the pavement rings out across the dead nothing, the sight of wilting flowers and rusty fence doing its part to ward them off from entering the towering dwelling before their eyes. Nevertheless they’ve abandoned their bikes in the street and are now collectively moving towards the door. Bill is leading them, vengeance in his stride as he makes his way up the unkempt lawn, and the rest follow behind with a touch of timidness and hesitation. Their bravado nonetheless maintains itself in the strength and security of numbers but it's ready and willing to be demolished with the first sign of anything amiss. Beverly is the only one among them that almost matches Bill’s courage, standing tall even as wispy weeds graze at her ankles and an eternal chill runs down her spine. They come upon the front door and look upwards at the ghostly magnificence of it all. Richie is the first one to break the silence as almost always.

“Jesus, thing is even uglier up close.” 

They all nod in silent agreement, exchanging glances at each other. Bill, without delay or diffidence, steps up onto the porch and begins to twist the doorknob. The fragile wooden floorboards moan beneath his feet and his exertion doesn’t seem to be yielding much results; the door simply does not want to budge. But he’s unflagging in his pursuit, and with much coaxing the door finally opens for all of them. Richie follows behind, leading the rest of them in single file towards the entrance, but a voice at the back stops them in their tracks.

“Wait!”

They all turn. It’s Stan.

He hesitates. “Um… Shouldn’t we have… Some people keep watch?” He suggests cautiously. “You know… Just in case something bad happens…?” He looks around at the rest of them, hoping they’ll consider his proposition. The rest of them appear to mull it over, until finally Bill speaks again, pausing at the doorway.

“Who wants to stay out here?”

The group almost unanimously raises their hands. Beverly is the only one to keep her arm down, and she glances at everyone else almost quizzically. They all appear to regard one another with silent scrutiny, and finally Richie brings his arm down in defeat.

_“Fuck.”_

**~~~~**

Angel stands there at her doorway, her jaw dropped practically to the floor. As she takes in the sight of her empty lawn a million hypotheticals start to rush through her frantic mind. She backs clumsily into the side of the doorframe and swallows hard, unable to control how her pulse is skyrocketing now as she hyperventilates right there on her stoop. Luckily there are no wandering eyes outside to scrutinize her in her compromised stupor; no, for better or worse, she’s completely alone in the world at this moment. She stares vacantly down at the yellowed green in front of her, letting her stare fester until all she can see in front of her are undefined dots and blobs. She’s paralyzed, she can’t move, and it feels like it’s been a million years that she’s simply been sitting there doing nothing but standing in her doorway. All she can think about is where they’re going. 29 Neibolt Street. What they’re doing. Going to find Pennywise. What they intend to do. 

_Kill him._

Suddenly her numb limbs rediscover movement and she closes the door behind her. She’s not moving of her own volition anymore; it's a compulsion, it’s an _instinct_ piloting her senses now. She starts to trudge down the path onto the sidewalk. Once she’s left her house behind, it’s one more house, and one more house after that, and before she knows it her pace has devoured a fourth of Witcham. The neighborhood ahead is long and winding but she proceeds at her dogging stride, not stopping even to assess the safety of her path, not looking before she crosses the street, not acknowledging the fleeting glances of judgment that come from the occasional passerby. No, none of it mattered now. She needed to get to that house.

She knows in her mind that it’s ridiculous. She knows she can only move so fast chasing after them on foot. She knows that they have a significant advantage in their head start, that they’ll have probably already… No. She couldn’t think about that. All she could do was keep moving. She refuses to let her mind go there, even as creeping thoughts try to worm their way into her head without her notice and slow her down. Her pace breaks into something between a jog and a run now, a canter as clumsy as it is frantic. Sweat rolls down her brow; it’s nearing evening on a hot July day and she’s the furthest from prepared for the unexpected cardio. She continues along despite the discomfort in her lungs, wheezing ever so slightly with each hitching breath, and tries her best not to let her tempo slow despite the increasing physical exertion. She didn’t think to bring her emergency inhaler; she only hoped that she had enough stamina to go the distance without collapsing. Nevertheless she can’t… She can’t stop. She needed to keep going. For him. That’s all she keeps telling herself. For him. For him. _This is for him._

She’s most of the way through the neighborhood now, and that’s all she can think about. Where he is, if she’ll find him. If he’s safe. God, Angel had been worrying about that practically since the moment he disappeared. Even if she’d spent some time in shock about who he was, avoiding thinking about him out of patent discomfort for the revelation, there was still a part of her that was so unnerved and frightened by his absence anyway. She couldn’t help but think that perhaps something might have happened to him; even if the possibility was slim to none she still fretted over it. She knew there was little reason to worry. She knew that he was a powerful thing, that he held some might and influence over the town, now more so than ever, so why should she lose sleep wondering if he was okay? She should be more worried about the children. They’re only kids, they’re going over there unarmed to try to hurt him but she knew the odds of them pulling that off was not great. Just what kind of chance did any of them have against an enigmatic eldritch being such as he? It didn’t make sense for her to prioritize him. It really didn’t. But she finds herself thinking in her mind that they must have gotten involved for some cosmic reason she didn’t understand, that their involvement had to have been as fated as her own ties to him. She knew it best not to underestimate them. They weren’t as oblivious or negligent as the rest of the Derry inhabitants, they weren’t helpless or susceptible to his dangers the way the rest of the children were. They were like her, they were different, and it almost seemed like there was something that had chosen them much in the same way that Pennywise had chosen her. But she knew choice had nothing to do with it in the end. It was destiny. That scared her.

Her lungs are burning with every step she takes but she keeps going, keeps moving, because she knows how far ahead they are. She knows that they’ve more than likely already arrived, that they’ve found their way inside. That they’ve wasted no time poking around in an effort to learn more, relentless in their pursuit to chase something that’s been tormenting the entire town for the better part of a year. Determined in their child-like resolve to put an end to it. She knows he’s powerful but she also knows it’s seven against one, and those odds are hard to best no matter the circumstances. She imagines them having found him somehow. She imagines him doing everything in his power to ward them off. She imagines them, unyielding and stubborn, refusing to back down even in the face of a situation they’re clearly not equipped to handle. She imagines them ganging up on him, and him having no choice but to… Despite the stress on her body she’s broken into as much of a run as she can physically manage, and she finally reaches the end of Witcham. She wastes no time turning onto Route 2, and from there she makes her way east. But it’s all starting to wear her down; the thoughts, the physical strain, the burn in her lungs, and without warning her legs give out from underneath her. She sprawls onto the ground, her jaw jutting against the rocks, and there on the gravel she starts to feel tears building in her eyes. She starts to think that it’s hopeless, all of it, and that she’ll never get there in time. That it’s pointless of her to even try. But she can’t think like that. Won’t think like that. She staggers onto her feet again, and simply keeps moving.

**~~~~**

The three of them take their first steps into the house, and the door seems to close behind them of its own volition. Bill is cautious but firm; he keeps moving into the foyer. Eddie squeaks at the sound of the creaking wood and Richie is spooked enough to utter a startled “Fuck!” into the emptiness of the room. They take in the sight of the parlor. The air is dusty and stale; cobwebs litter the walls and ceiling. There are dead leaves and tree branches everywhere, almost as though the house itself was built around a decomposing forest. The scent is death, but not fresh death; it's the stench of something long gone, something lost to the sands of time. Something that’s not existed for hundreds of years. Eddie gags on it, and then promptly takes two puffs on his inhaler. There are many adjoining rooms sprouting off the main hall, each more uninviting than the last, and they pause in the center to discern their next step forward. Eddie is shivering restlessly, resisting the urge to take out his inhaler for a third puff. He stays rooted to the spot where he stands, letting his eyes flicker over the room in hesitant observation until his stare catches on a peculiar sight in the contiguous sitting room on the left. Despite his own mental resistance he starts to walk towards it, towards a cluster of dreary tree branches and cobwebs that hover over an antique davenport caked in dust. He coughs as he draws nearer, and he squints his eyes at the sight in question, suspended in midair amid ancient strands of gossamer silk and dead wood. It’s what looks to be a piece of paper, a poster of some kind, and the ink looks faded and timeworn. The others press on in their own matters whilst he takes this under his own investigation. He looks up at it, blinking slowly, and gingerly reaches into the branches to take it down and look at it. He chokes on his own heartbeat.

  
  


**M I S S I N G**

**EDDIE KASPBRAK**

**13 YEARS OLD**

**DESCRIPTION:** Date of Birth: November 3rd, 1976. Male. Height: 63 inches. Weight: 105 lbs. Brown hair, brown eyes, wearing: Grey Airwolf shirt, yellow shorts, striped white socks, black sneakers, calculator watch on left arm.

PERSONS HAVING ANY INFORMATION ARE REQUESTED TO CALL 

**800---131-0728** **(207)174-6913**

  
  


“This…” He breathes.

“Eddie?” Richie calls from the other side of the room. He starts to walk over there. “What’cha doing over here, man?” Eddie is frozen to the spot. Can’t speak, can’t breathe. 

“Missing.”

“What?”

“It says I’m fucking missing.” He says. He’s starting to wheeze. “...Why does it say I’m missing, Richie?”

“I don’t fucking know-- let me see that.” He plucks the paper out of Eddie’s hands and starts to scan over it with suspicious eyes. Bill is starting to walk over too. 

“G-Guys, we should probably--”

“What the _fuck,_ man?” Eddie is starting to descend into hysterics. “That’s _my_ picture on there, I just bought this fucking shirt!”

“Eddie, cuh-calm down--”

“I’m not gonna calm down! It knows when my birthday is! No one except my mom knows my birthday! That’s my shirt, that’s my hair--”

“It’s not real dude--”

He’s striding over to the door now. “That’s my face, that’s my name, that’s my age, _that’s_ the date!” He’s hollering. “I’m going, I’m fucking _going!_ ” He tries his damnedest to jimmy it open but it’s not yielding for him. “Let me out! Let me out right _fucking_ now!”

“Eddie come on!”

They pull him away from the door almost kicking and screaming. “It’s not real, Eddie, it’s n-not real! It’s playing t-tricks on you.” Bill reassures him.

Eddie wheezes in their arms, almost collapsing to the floor, but he gets to the inhaler in his fanny pack in time. He takes one long indulgent puff and breathes. Finally, after a beat of silence between all three of them. “...I’m not fucking scared.”

“Hello?” 

They stop. Eddie squeaks again.

“Help me, _please!_ ” 

They all turn their heads toward the staircase. A voice calls to them from the second floor, one vaguely familiar like a stranger’s face in the back of the subconscious. They’re drawn to the sound like moths to flame, and they start to follow it even as it grows more frantic and insistent, even as they start to hear gasps and panting through the ceiling above, even as doors open and close and the house starts to take on more of a mind of its own than before. As they ascend the stairs they can hear centuries-old wood groaning underneath them, can hear the chitters of mice as they scurry around in the shadows, from within the cracking, peeling walls and feel the sense of impending dread grow more and more heavy with time. As they ascend to the top of the first flight of stairs they’re met with more of the same; more dust, more cobwebs, more scattered debris littering the floors, but there’s a hallway at the end of the room. They cautiously follow the trail of the voice calling to them, and it leads them to that very hall. The three of them come to the corridor in a triangle and stare. There, at the other end of the aisle, is a child. A girl, to be more exact. About half of her is visible in the doorway, she lays on her stomach, clearly immobilized, and she’s heaving in labored breaths through her chest. She looks like she’s losing a fight between life and death.

“B-Betty…” Bill begins.

“...Ripsom..?” Richie finishes.

She stares at them for one eternally long moment from the hallway, but something wrenches her back out of sight. Her screams curdle their blood. They stand, frozen in the threshold, shivering like rain-soaked babes at what they’ve witnessed, but despite it all they continue forward anyway. Eddie is clinging to Bill’s arm now, Richie follows behind hesitantly. Each step down the hall feels like another mile in an excruciatingly long marathon, and it seems that no matter how many they take, they’re no closer to the room at the end than they were a moment before. The entrance seems to be inching further back with every stride, almost as though it was retreating from them. Bill quickens his pace, Eddie follows, Richie hears a growl. Richie lags. 

“What the…?”

It’s a _low_ sound, low and infernal and predatory, and it came from right behind him. He almost thought he didn’t hear it, he almost thought he might have hallucinated it, but when he puts his foot forward to keep walking he hears it again. He stops. He looks behind him, and there’s nothing there. Bill and Eddie keep going. Bill and Eddie start to close the distance, and Richie is getting left behind. He doesn’t notice until he hears the door creaking shut a million miles away from him. He whips his head back around but it’s too late; by the time he starts to run down the hallway the door has already slammed closed.

“ _Guys! What the fuck?_ ”

“R-Richie!”

He runs as fast as his legs will carry him but he finds himself screeching to a halt when the floor collapses into nothing just before the door. The wooden beams erode into dust; it’s as though a two-ton weight was dropped right there in the middle of the hallway, or acid was dumped and it all simply melted away. Richie can even detect the smell of burning wood there as he stands rooted to the spot, and he can’t seem to move even as he gets the urge to turn tail and run the other way. And from there he hears the growl again. He hears it, he _knows_ he hears it. He gulps, he feels the hot breath curling over his shoulder and he turns, and _there_ it is. Looming, towering above him, dwarfing him with its height. A werewolf, hunched over, big and black and imposing with burning golden eyes and tufts of red hair like pom poms running down its chest. It unhinges its great big maw as if to roar, but then a single sentence crawls into Richie’s ear. The voice is soft and lilting and sweet, and it makes him shiver with disgust.

**_Beep beep, Richie._ **

He stumbles back, startled, and the adrenaline of dropping through the ceiling doesn’t hit him until he falls right through the kitchen table below. Down for the count, he can only groan.

“ _Fuck…_ ”

**~~~~**

“Richie! _R-Richie!_ ” Bill yells, jimmying the doorknob. “Richie open the door!” Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. He puts his entire weight into opening it but it won’t budge. This wasn’t like the front door, which he was able to bust open with a little rough coaxing. This was different. He could tell it simply didn’t want to open, that something was stopping him from doing it entirely. Eddie watches impotently, silent with horror, helpless to contribute.

_“Eddie.”_

He turns. There’s an adjoining room behind him, the door halfway open, and there he can see a figure of roughly Richie’s height and size crouching from behind a mass in the empty space.

“Rich?” He calls out timidly, walking towards the room. Richie hides with an impish giggle. While Bill is still trying the door he takes it upon himself to investigate this new development, and he gingerly steps past the threshold, finding himself emboldened by a sudden feverish desire to best the fear pulsing through his torrid veins. 

“Richie, where are you? You’re being _such_ a fucking dick right now.”

It’s dark. That’s all he can see, dark.

“Eddie?” He can hear Bill call, but he sounds like he’s on the other side of the universe.

“Bill!”

“ _Eddie!_ ” 

They both run toward the door but it slams shut. It won’t open. Amid pounding on the door from Bill, Eddie turns at the sight of flickering lights within the room. In time the lights start to reveal a room furnished sparingly with a lamp at either end of the doorway, a few shelves lining the walls, and at the end of the room, a sofa. But it’s hard to discern all of this through the thick, dense mist permeating the room, a fog that seemed to come from out of nowhere, gathering in the air just as his eyes left the door. The floor is slick with something, something thin but sticky beneath his feet, like bodily fluids slowly coagulating. He immediately starts to choke, at the stench, at the fog, and he reaches for the inhaler within his fanny pack, but his hands fumble at nothing inside the confines of the belt satchel tied around his waist. Once he makes that sober realization he starts to panic, but he hears something _plink_ behind the sofa on the far end of the room. Having no choice but to wander helplessly through the haze, he feels shards of broken glass crunch beneath his sneakers, taking care not to slip among the mess on the floor, fumbling through the room as it renders slowly before his eyes. Gasping with every breath he finally makes it to the couch, and he crouches to the ground to investigate. 

His inhaler is there on the floor, inexplicably having found its way over there somehow, and he wastes no time. He cautiously reaches out to grab it, but his hand is met with something strange, something utterly alien in the cloudy, milk-like smog. A tentacle, thick and sinuous with a lamprey mouth lashes out at him through the nothing and his fight or flight response promptly kicks in. He snatches his inhaler with a breathless shriek and stumbles back, and he almost falls back onto the broken glass but he finds his footing just in time. The appendage follows, slinking through the air fluidly like a snake, like an airborne eel, and he backs away frantically in a scrambling attempt to dodge it. He serpentines backward, he finds his way towards the door in a clumsy parry, keeping his eyes rooted to the monster the entire time as he moves. The mist does everything in its power to deter him in his escape; he takes a puff on his inhaler but he only starts to choke more, and as he makes his way towards the haven of the door his sight is fading to black spots before his eyes. The appendage is looming closer, its pace is quickening, its closing in. He’s tugging at the doorknob with all the strength he has left, gasping and wheezing all the while and in his dread-soaked horror he’s losing all hope for survival. He just keeps pulling and twisting, pulling and twisting, and then his salvation finally comes in the form of the door swinging open from the other side. The tentacle’s mouth snaps in his face as Bill’s arms pull him out, and they both use their collective force to slam the door shut behind them again.

“Let’s g-get out of here.” He says. “Where’s Richie?”

“Don’t know.”

They scramble back out into the room but their attention is immediately captured by a lone mattress sitting in another adjacent room. It squirms and writhes with something unnatural and alive. Demonic giggling echoes out into the stale air, and they’re both frozen in abject horror, unable to take their eyes off of it. The tear of the fabric is deafening as a decomposing head emerges from the center of the mattress, slowly and deliberately. Its eyes are dead and white, devoid of pupils, and they can see purple veins scoring its face. Its hair is matted and unkempt, and it smiles at them with yellow teeth. It's Ed Corcoran.

“Come and play with us, Billy.” He says with an even tone. “You too Eds. Come and play. You’ll float.”

**_You’ll all float._ **

He starts to slowly open his mouth, wider and wider until a thick, viscous black sludge starts to ooze out. It drips down his chin and he grins. That same sludge starts to emerge from the mattress in an inky mass, slowly seeping, seeping, seeping towards them like a sea of thick oil flooding the room. They can’t move, all they can do is stare.

**~~~~**

When Richie comes to in the kitchen below, he’s immediately met with a stabbing pain in his arm. He’s dizzy at first when he opens his eyes, and his vision is blurry when he sits up. It thankfully starts to clear the longer he sits there, but he’s met with a matter much more pressing than his eyesight. When he stirs he gets that sharp, stinging sensation again and he winces.

“Jesus Christ... Ow, _fuck!”_

He looks down at his arm and its mangled. It’s bent out of shape, cracked practically in half from the fall, and the sight of it makes his stomach churn. He hardly knows what to make of it; the look of it so alarming that he resists the urge to scream in horror. As he sits there studying it, his thoughts are suddenly interrupted by the sound of something drumming on the side of the fridge in front of him, and he looks up. There’s a hand, a _big_ hand, gloved and imposing, with fingers like spider legs cupping the frame of the door and it's playful, it almost seems delighted to make his acquaintance. But the feeling could not be less mutual. Richie is disturbed by the sight, unable to process what he’s seeing as the door to the fridge slowly creaks open. A folded mess of limbs and torso are packed tightly into the confines, with a head peeking in sinister amusement from the bottom between its legs. And from there it only worsens. Menacing chuckles rumble up from the floor beneath him. He can hear the pop and snap of joints as the thing unfolds itself from the darkness within. It smiles at him with a grin so insidious that he wants to cower away from it, and as he twists and un-creases himself, he stands tall at a towering seven-foot stature. But to Richie, he might as well have been as tall as the Empire State Building. It’s the clown from the arcade, and he could not have been struck with more fear and revulsion. He doesn’t realize it, but he’s shrinking away from him.

The clown appears to shiver with delight at the sight of him, the bells adorning the sleeves of his suit jingling happily as he shakes his shoulders and stares down at him with glee. Richie takes note that his appearance is slightly different from before, his suit appearing dingier and his hair more ratty and loose, much unlike the perfect coif from the previous encounter. His eyes are gold rimmed with furious red, and they glint menacingly despite the hollow warmth on his face, a look both dangerous and foreboding in equal measure. He bends down, almost in a bow, but he keeps his arms at his side. He smiles a slimy, ghoulish smile, and his eyes widen as he speaks one simple sentence.

_“Time to float.”_

“ _Fuck_ no.” He whispers.

The clown advances toward him with a theatrical step. Then another. Then another, and all Richie can do is stumble backward toward the far end of the room. But he can only move so fast when one of his arms is broken, and he _knows_ that. Nevertheless he continues to stumble back frantically, concerned only in this moment with getting away from him. Surviving.

“Get the fuck away from me!” He yells. The clown’s smile falls into a mocking pout.

“Aww, Rich, don’t be that way.” He sulks. “Don’t you wanna play with Pennywise?”

_Pennywise?_ The name sounds vaguely familiar somehow. He doesn’t answer, he only keeps moving back. Pennywise abandons his teasing dismay, having switched capriciously back into happy mode, but his voice is low and sinister all the same.

“ _Come._ Come play, Rich. There’s so many games, down where you’ll float. Let’s play one, shall we?”

“Fuck off!” He snaps.

“Let’s play tag, Rich.” He continues, advancing on him further with a grin. “Here- I’ll be IT.”

**~~~~**

She’s finally arrived, and she wastes no time. Ignoring the unsettling sight of all their bikes abandoned in the front yard, she stumbles up the porch steps, drunk with adrenaline and out of breath. It took her the better part of twenty minutes to get here, and that was with very little stops. She’s so relieved to have arrived at long last that for a moment she doesn’t stop to consider the harsh reality of the given situation, that the Losers may have very well confronted him already at this point and done whatever damage they could. No, for now she’s simply satisfied with having gotten here so quick, maybe even a little proud despite all the panic and commotion, and she allows herself a small, delirious smile as she ambles up to the front door and pulls on the knob. But her brief content is soured when she can’t open the door. She twists hard. Nothing. She twists harder. Still nothing. She frowns. She puts both hands around the knob and starts to twist with all her might, but the door simply does not want to give. It almost seems to be resisting her somehow. She’s starting to get frustrated; she knows she needs to get in there, and she needs to get in there _now._ She’s already wasted enough time; god knows she took an eternity getting here. She kicks the door in anger and turns around, taking a deep breath as she considers the field of wilting sunflowers across the way. She scratches her head in exasperation, her mind swimming with ideas on what to do, and she doesn’t think now, she just moves. She puts all her weight into her shoulder and charges towards the door, and the force is enough to blow it open. It slams as it hits the wall and the sound of dusty drywall crumbling to the floor is palpable in the emptiness of the room. She pants quietly and gulps as she takes in the familiar sight of the house. It looks just the same as it did in her dreams.

She closes the door behind her and takes slow, investigative steps as she moves further into the foyer. There seems to be no sign of them yet. They’ve probably moved on into other parts of the house by now; it seemed to be a pretty sprawling and formidable place, after all. As she takes in the sight of everything around her, she finds herself growing comfortable with the surroundings despite her overwhelming worry and concern; she takes odd solace in the dusty, musty smell in the air, in the dead branches and cobwebs and the decrepit groaning in the floorboards beneath her Docs. It appealed to her in a way she couldn’t explain; it was ghostly and ethereal in its own way, like a place stuck out of time. It might have been disgusting and foul to anyone else, but for some reason… Not to Angel. If she could clean this place up, maybe give it a nice dusting and replace some of the furnishing, it’d make a very lovely home. _A home for both of them,_ she allows herself to think dreamily. She snaps out of it. No, now wasn’t the time for that. She continues onward and stops, listening when she hears a sound like voices coming from around the corner. It sounded like… She hides behind a pillar and peeks around it. There’s Bev, Ben, Stan and Mike…. All in a circle, coming down the flight of stairs above… They’re glancing all around them, scrutinizing the vicinity, and they appear to be looking for the others. She watches silently as they turn the corridor and disappear from sight, mumbling amongst themselves. Once she deems it safe, she comes out from behind the pillar and follows after them.

**~~~~**

The sludge from the mattress is starting to flood the room, and from there it’s only starting to draw closer to them from the other side. It’s thickening, its consistency is almost akin to hot lava, and there’s even a steam starting to rise off of it now. Hot embers burn brightly at the edges of the pool and the stench is something truly vile. They start to back up, hesitant and unsure, and with nowhere else to go they turn around, only to be met by three doors. In sequence, they read 

**NOT SCARY AT ALL**

**SCARY**

**VERY SCARY**

The handwriting on the doors is sloppy. It’s red like fresh blood, and it drips upward instead of down, like the room was flipped on its head. They pause, looking at each other, and quickly make a break for **NOT SCARY AT ALL.**

**~~~~**

Pennywise’s pace is quickening ever so slightly, he’s starting to catch up to Richie. With each passing second he’s only getting closer, and Richie is starting to gradually run out of real estate. The wall is coming up to meet him, and with another desperate clamber he finally backs into it. Truly trapped now, all he can do is squirm, kicking his feet and holding his broken arm in futility. His eyes dart around the room, trying to assess any possible route of escape, but he’s getting too close. There’s no possible way he can win in this game.

“What’s the matter, Rich?” He frowns. “You’re not even trying to win.” He wags a finger at him. “You’re supposed to try to _run._ You’re not very good at this game.” He steps closer, and closer, and then he stops, looming above him now with a sly smile. “...Oh well.”

And then suddenly he’s in his face, gripping him by the shirt with both massive hands, shaking him, jolting him, screaming chaotically. Those screams ring out in the room, they echo mockingly in the stale air and send shivers down his shaking spine. And Richie is helpless now, his glasses slide down his face as he starts to cry out, simply frozen and incapacitated, easy prey to the furious beast. He hasn’t made peace with his fate but he’s powerless to do anything about it, even as Pennywise slides a silken hand down the length of his good forearm and starts to playfully bite in its direction, nipping closer and closer with each snap of his jaw but never fully making good on his threat. Richie is sobbing now, utterly broken, weak and feeble in the face of this peril; all bravado has drained out of him along with the color on his face. And Pennywise is ruthless in all his teasing, he cups Richie’s face and starts to derisively mimic his caterwauling, throwing his head back with whooping wails and blubbering howls as he pinches his cheeks like a doting grandmother. 

**~~~~**

As Bill and Eddie consider the doors, they make their choice and scurry over to their choice. They brace themselves; Bill is the one to twist the knob and Eddie hangs back fearfully, peeking over his shoulder. The room is dark; small and modest like a closet, and they can’t immediately see anything in the shadows. 

“Has anyone seen my doll?” A little voice whispers.

Bill hesitantly reaches for the pull switch. The light clicks on, blinking and flickering, and it’s a child of about four or five dangling from the ceiling. She looks mangled and disheveled, her hair is knotted, her eyes are gouged. There’s blood dripping from the tips of her Mary Janes. She screams, and so do they. Eddie slams the door.

“WHERE THE FUCK WERE HER EYES?” He yells hysterically. They turn back around; the sludge is as pervasive as ever, and it’s starting to close in on them. Eddie is shrieking in fear, he’s quaking, and Bill grips him by the shoulders.

“T-This isn’t real.” He stutters. “Remember the muh-missing kid poster. That wasn’t real, so this isn’t real.”

**~~~~**

_“Tasty, tasty, beautiful fear.”_ Pennywise growls lowly, looking into Richie’s eyes. Viscous drool drips down from his lips. He drinks in the sumptuous scent of it all; the pounding in his heart, the blood pulsing restlessly in his veins, the way he squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to block all of it out. He knows it’s futile. He knows that the child is doing everything in his power to remain composed, to keep all of this from getting to him but his best efforts are no match for his. Pennywise has simply been doing this for far too long to be outdone. And he _won’t_ be outdone. No, the time has come for him to show these children just who he is; the eater of worlds, the ruler of this shitty little town. The time has come for them to know and to fear, and to cower, and to tremble. The time has come for them to know their place. The thought of it brings him the most perverse joy, to know that this was all unfolding in his favor, that there was nary a thing to stop him or keep him from taking what was his, that they couldn’t stand in the way of him and his greatest joy. They hadn’t even the slightest idea what obstacle they posed to him, and yet they were so perfectly impeding him nonetheless. He grew tired of it. He grew tired of entertaining their existence, and he didn’t appreciate how attached they were to her. He didn’t care. She was only _his,_ and he wouldn’t share her. It simply wasn’t an option.

It all flashes through his mind in sequence; how he would corner them, how he would dispose of them all, how he might savor the taste of their fear and flesh. How she would react when she found out what he had done. She might be heartbroken at first, he knew to account for that. She was, after all, a fallibly human girl, and she had the kindness he so fortunately lacked. But he had been working on eroding that kindness from the moment he introduced himself into her life. He had made such great strides in seducing her, in commanding her love and attention, so much so that his intentions in making her so morally conflicted over who he truly was were finally bearing fruit after so much time. He knew that it was tearing her apart inside, it was rending her apart from the very soul, and it was even worse since she’d had an inkling of the truth but had so foolishly chosen to disregard it. She wasn’t a stupid girl, she’d had some vague idea that the monster and her guardian angel might be one and the same, but she didn’t want to believe it out of an overwhelming desire to preserve what she had. And now she had no choice but to confront it all, to make her decision to either reject him or forsake everything she ever knew to stay by his side. And he knew that, while she was inclined to flee towards that which was familiar, she would stop to consider the excruciating pain that might follow leaving him behind, and the fear of that pain might give her pause. She was never the kind of girl to cope well with pain; from physical to emotional she was always a rather fragile girl. That’s why she’d learned to hide it all so well with a tough exterior. But he was breaking down that tough exterior, oh yes he was. And it made him smile, it made him giddy that she had spent the extent of his absence pining for him, pining so terribly rather than resenting him for what he had kept from her. It was indicative of her growing weakness, her vulnerability to his delicious manipulations. She was falling under his spell.

Grinning at the thought of it all, he bares his fangs at the child. The taste of his panic and unease rolling off his tongue is a savory taste, rich and piquant, and it makes him want to sink his teeth into the veins at his neck and drain the life right out of him. But still he takes his time, terrorizing him with his advances, gripping him by the neck now, his hand nearly crushing his fragile windpipe as he contemplates what to do with him. He probably shouldn’t eat him, not now. He didn’t feel like now would be the right time; maybe he should wait until they were reunited again, when he had the chance to secure more of her love and devotion. Maybe he should simply scare the wits out of him, scare the wits out of _all_ of them and take his leave at a dire moment, when he was satisfied with their horror. Maybe leave them with a grievous injury of some kind, mental and physical to deter them from taking further action, from foolishly attempting to put a stop to his reign of terror. Maybe he should just leave them all with a warning. _Or…_ He could eat this one, take this one, give them a taste of what’s to come and part with them, allow them to deal with the traumatic aftermath of their lost comrade. Wouldn’t hurt to have a little taste, would it? He salivates at the thought, and without further deliberation he throws his head back.

The sight of his mouth elongating is nightmarish and hair-raising to the child, he can sense the fear spiking in his veins as he lays captive to the sight. He knows that he’s paralyzed now, can only sit supine and helpless as he prepares to take his spoils, the ghastly fruits of his labor. His eyes roll back into his head as he stretches open his maw and dozens of razor-sharp teeth make themselves apparent, lining his gums like edged stalagmites. The child only watches in horror, flattening himself against the wall and squirming, coughing, sputtering at the lack of air. His glasses have all but fallen off of his face. And Pennywise savors it, the seconds right before a kill, knowing that the taste will be oh-so-delicious, that his meat will melt on his tongue, his bones would crunch and splinter so pleasingly under his teeth. And just as he’s about to lunge forward and take his first bite, the sound of _something_ stops him. He veers his head, forgetting his current objective for the moment, mouth still agape, ready to feed and he _listens._ He observes with every one of his senses; he assesses, he carefully calculates as he paws, almost drums absentmindedly at the child’s face with one massive hand. And then he turns. He knew exactly who was there, he could smell them before he even laid eyes on them. He smiles.

“This isn’t real enough for you, Billy?” He asks mockingly. He wears a look of derisive hurt on his face but there’s hostility in there too. It’s a mean look, a scornful look. He stares straight into his eyes. “ _I’m_ not real enough for you?” He can see the look of silent alarm in his face and he relishes in it. And then he speaks six simple words that make his blood run cold.

**It was real enough for Georgie.**

He lunges, and time stops for all of them. He’s closing in, he’s about to hone in and make a different kill, but then--

_“STOP!”_ He hears a voice, a familiar voice yell.

He turns toward the source, bewildered, and it’s _her._ She’s here, she’s back, she’s come back to him. He’s spellbound, he’s mesmerized, he’s transfixed on the very sight of her. He wants to step towards her, he wants to take her in his arms despite all this but before he can think he feels the sudden stabbing, searing pain of something being shoved through his head, right through the meat of his eye and he stumbles back, speechless. It's another child, it’s a redheaded child who struck him, having come in undetected from another room, and she backs away instinctively out of defense. It’s a rusty rod of fence from the wall outside, and it impales his skull perfectly from one side into the other. The first thing he feels is anger over the pain, anger and bitter resentment, and he can feel the blood dripping up from his face as he sobs in agony. And then he can hear the screams, the hysterical shrieks of Angel filling the room, can see the rest of the children scrambling back protectively to aid their friend behind him, still frozen against the wall and shaking. He’s hunched over in his hurt, the anger never truly leaving as he festers there, processing his injury. He growls, he snarls in burning hatred as he slowly turns around, and he regards them all with wrath in his red-rimmed eyes. Angel’s wails of heartbreak are enough to make his own heart pulse with restless fury, knowing in that moment that _they_ were the cause of her distress, of her shaking upset, and he simply couldn’t abide that. No, they needed to be taught a lesson. 

He steps toward them, drool seeping down from the corners of his lips, and razor claws emerge from one hand as he closes in. He roars; Angel’s cries only grow louder, as do the children’s, and he uses the rod in his head to rip a bloody slash in the stomach of the child closest to him before backing away. Best to only leave a warning for now; he simply couldn’t chance eating them all here and now, not while she was here to see everything. He simply couldn’t traumatize her like that, not when he had already traumatized her enough in an effort to bring them closer together. He’s making his grand exit, bowing as he makes his way towards the door, and he hates having to leave her like this but he knows he must. The time will come for them to truly reunite; it simply wasn’t now. He can see the leader of the pack, Bill, following after him; the rest are simply consoling Angel in her grief. But by the time the child has reached the door he’s already long gone, he’s making his way back towards his subterranean dwelling, deep underneath the bowels of Derry. Bill looks on from the basement as he scales down the well like a spider, and just like that, he’s gone.


	24. Aftermath

It’s been a few long days since the confrontation at 29 Neibolt Street, and Angel has found herself perpetually tired ever since then. When she’d come in that evening after having gotten home, she didn’t stop to greet Mayor Jello, or prep her lunch for work the following day, or even undress before bed. She just kicked her shoes off and trudged like an emotionally dead zombie to her room, pulled back the covers and crawled in. When she woke the following morning, she rolled out of bed when her alarm went off and went to work. She hadn’t yet processed anything that had happened the previous day; it was almost as if her brain was refusing to acknowledge it. She was avoiding it, she was blocking it out. Thinking about it was just too painful, and she’d dealt with more than her fair share of pain lately as it was, so she simply opted to forget. As she attended to her duties in the library, she was rather distant and absentminded. She kept bumping into things or spacing out during exchanges with patrons, and no matter how she tried she just couldn’t summon the energy to do much else except stumble around and clumsily put things back on shelves. The people couldn’t be bothered to really notice; they regarded her with no more indifference or disdain than usual, so at the very least she had that going for her. Not even the librarian was getting on her case as of late, though she chalked up her more merciful disposition to the fact that A History of Old Derry had at long last been recovered and been checked out to a child much less likely to scatter it to the four winds. She still hadn’t any idea how it had ended up back in the library but she didn’t intend to waste time wondering about it. It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing did.

Forgetting would only get her so far, unfortunately, as it seemed Angel could not stop her mind from dredging up the details of that day no matter how hard she tried. It refused to stay buried in the back of her subconscious, desperate to breathe the air of sentient thought once more by forcing itself back into her immediate focus again and again. Those details kept flooding back in, and would overwhelm her in flashes like a fever dream of some kind. How things had begun, the way they had progressed, and the way that one thing had led to another; it was all she could think about. She kept chasing the events of that day all the way back to the beginning, when she’d seen that ghostly transmission on Channel 27, had heard that voice speaking to her from behind; when she started finding the gifts and watching the Derry Children’s Hour; how she went to bed so miserable on the eve of Valentine’s Day and woken up at the touch of something she had pined for so terribly for so long. How she had relished that first touch. The days he spent building her up, the days he lavished her in praise and gifts and  _ danced  _ with her. The nights they spent laying together in her bed, doing nothing except drinking in each other’s company… The day she had been harassed by those boys in the library, and found him down in the archives… The sight of him… Swallowing down their lifeless bodies… How he had left her alone after that, how she had felt so lonely and isolated and empty, so much so that she almost relapsed, had almost done something terrible to herself. The sight of them at her front door at such a drastic time, and the way they spoke gravely of the things they had seen and witnessed. The addition of Mike into their little group, before they came to the unanimous decision to…

"I'm just saying let's face facts. Real world. Georgie is dead. Stop trying to get us killed too."

"Guh-Georgie's not dead!"

"You couldn't save him, but you can still save yourself-"

"No, t-take it back! You're scared, and we all are, but  _ take it back!" _

She didn’t like thinking about it. It just made her stomach roil and turn. The walk back from 29 Neibolt Street was unpleasant for everyone, but for Angel most of all. It was true a couple of them sustained injuries from the confrontation, but the emotional turmoil felt so much more grievous in her battered mind than anything else they collectively suffered. The children had tried so hard to console her as they found their way out of the house and, to their credit, they had selflessly set aside their own trauma for the time being to aid in hers, but in her grief she couldn’t bring herself to be grateful for any of it. She found it harder and harder to be grateful for their company at all as of late, not that she could ever admit that out loud. Depression on top of everything else was hard enough to contend with without having to keep four children from squabbling all the time. No, make that six… Make that  _ seven _ now. Seven children, and she was just expected to look out for their wellbeing, keep them all happy and safe. What about  _ her, _ huh? Who was going to look out for _ her _ wellbeing, keep  _ her  _ happy and safe? Didn’t she deserve that too? If ever there was a thing to offer her such blessings, it was Pennywise, but they had… They… 

“You’re just a bunch of losers!  _ Fuck off!” _

_ “Stop!” _

“You’re just a bunch of losers and you’ll get yourself killed trying to catch the stupid  _ fucking _ clown!”

Keeping them separated took everything she had. She had snapped out of her catatonic state for a brief moment to assess the fight breaking out right in front of her, and instinct took over. She shoved herself in between them as she’d done so many times before, had tried in vain to keep them from continuing to lash out, but the others thankfully took over for her. Stan and Mike held Richie by the arms, and Ben had his hands full trying to keep Bill back from taking another swipe around her waist at Richie’s face. Eddie and Beverly simply watched in horror at the events unfolding. And then, once the immediate skirmish had been dissolved, the emotions came bubbling up to the surface for her again, and she started to gurgle weakly in front of them all, and then she trekked a thousand miles from the street onto her front lawn, collapsed there, and started to sob again. She didn’t care in that moment that they could all see her like this, didn’t care that she was behaving so helplessly in front of them; this was all simply a long time coming, and in that moment all she really cared about was communicating how she felt. And how she felt was _fucking terrible._

“Look, asshole, you got her upset all over again!” She could hear Richie yelling at Bill.

“Stop! This is what it wants!” She had heard Beverly say urgently. “It  _ wants  _ to divide us. We were all together when we hurt it. _ That’s _ why we’re still alive.”

She could feel something vile and wroth consuming her then. It was a feeling untempered and unbridled that rose up from the pit of her stomach, and it made her seethe, it made her _angry._ It made the grass wilt beneath her form as she laid there weeping, consumed in heartbreak on her front lawn, and she couldn’t control it any more than she could control her labored breathing. It shocked her to her very core because she didn’t think she could ever _have_ these feelings, let alone entertain them seriously. In that moment she should have felt terrible for having them. She should have immediately denounced those feelings and worked to achieve a better, more fair assessment of the situation. But instead she lays there, sobbing and _festering,_ and she can do little else but succumb to the toxic influence of her current train of thought. None of this would have ever fucking happened if they would have just _listened_ to her. Richie wouldn’t have broken his arm, Ben wouldn’t have gotten wounded, Bill wouldn’t have recklessly endangered all his friends and P… Pennywise wouldn’t have...

She’s sobbing pathetically into the grass, full of sorrow, dripping with righteous anger while the children argue, and she can’t collect herself enough to stop. All she can think about is him. All she can think about is that he was alive and well until she’d stepped in and distracted him. All she can think is that she was the reason he’d gotten hurt, she was the reason he was possibly... She knows she should be more concerned about the children. He had, after all, put them all in danger. It looked as though he was fully prepared to eat at least one of them, and on his way out he lacerated Ben, cut him clear across the stomach and left him to bleed. Why didn’t she care about that? Why the fuck wasn’t _that_ her first priority? Richie had broken his arm for Christ’s sake. Why didn’t she care? She knows why. Because she took his side, that’s why. It was awful, it was terrible, it was condemnable and frankly reprehensible, but she had _warned_ them not to go after him. She knew him, knew him better than anyone else in this town could ever hope to, and she knew that he would not back down from a threat, not even a threat from the likes of children. He was an ancient and predatorial thing, she knew it, and he was not immune to defending his turf, from protecting what was his. They hunted him down, they trespassed on his property and threatened him; how could she rightly fault him for defending himself? She simply couldn’t. It didn’t matter to her that he had, in a sense, started things between them. She was sure he didn’t intend to actually hurt any of them, because she was certain he would have kept his promise to her in the end. Though he had gone, though he had left her, he... He still _loved_ her, didn’t he?

“Yeah? Well I plan to keep it that way.” Richie said, harshly shouldering past Bill. Once he’s gone, Stan leaves. Ben is next, then Eddie, then Mike.

“Mike-” Beverly begins.

“Guys...” Mike says guiltily. “ _...I can’t do this.  _ My granddad was right, I’m an outsider. Gotta stay that way.” And then he’s gone. Only Bill and Beverly remain. The quiet is tense and awkward as Angel continues sobbing on her lawn, and neither of them seem sure of what to do. Angel is inconsolable, her chest heaving as she cries out in hysterics. She’s no better now than she was in the Neibolt house, when she’d screamed out in terror at the sight of Beverly impaling him through the eye with that rusty line of fence, when she’d had her heart shattered into a million pieces right there on the kitchen floor as she watched him bow out of the room. It’s all she can think about; the sight of him so overcome with pain that he was reduced to rage, like a dog lashing out to bite when hit. The sight of his eye gouged, his _ beautiful _ golden eye, torn asunder by the force of the metal being shoved through his head. And the blood, the  _ blood _ dripping up the side of his head as he sobbed; it wrenched her heartstrings. She had wanted so badly to see him again, so badly that she might risk it all, might risk them all knowing what she had been up to this past year, might risk them hating her beyond all reason just to be with him again, just to feel him in her arms just one more time. It’s why she can’t stop herself from jerking away from the gentle efforts of Bill and Beverly to lift her up, can’t stop herself from glaring at them as she gets up, dusts herself off, opens up her front door, and slams it behind her.

She was worried sick for him. Once she had gone past the phase of being emotionally devoid as a result of her shock, she had somersaulted right back into her typically overemotional self. The second day back at work was a rollercoaster of emotion for her; all day long she kept replaying the events of that day back in her mind, thinking about all the ins and outs, analyzing the situation down to every last detail. One thing kept jutting out to her in her mind, and that was the way she’d seen Pennywise look at her just before Beverly struck him. She could see it in his eyes and on his face, a burning truth, something that she could plainly recognize. That was the look on his face he got when he was happy. He was happy to see her. After all that had happened between them, after the strange manner in which they parted ways, after his long absence, he still had that look on his face when he saw her. He missed her, just as she missed him. That kind of detail was very hard to ignore. As she took the front desk, as she catalogued returns, as she assisted patrons with their book selections she never stopped thinking about it, and despite all her dread and grief over the situation, the thought of it makes her heart swoon ever so slightly. It made her a little drunk with love to consider it, that he was so distracted by the mere sound of her voice that he stopped everything he was doing just to find her, to look at her again. There was yet a part of her that found it confusing all the same, though. If he had missed her so dearly, if he had risked grievous injury simply to steal a glance at her, why on earth had he left her in the first place? Why had he gone away?

She didn’t know the answer, but there was something she knew. There was a possibility he was still alive. Though they had certainly... Done a number on him, she knew that he was a strong, likely eternal creature, not to be bested by some mere piece of fence through the eye. Pennywise was mighty enough to survive hundreds upon hundreds of years by her estimation, based on what he’s told her, and she was sure that the Losers were likely not the first to take a stab at killing him. There were probably others in the past tormented by his existence, pushed into a willingness to act based on one unfortunate incident too many, and they must have tried to rid the town of him once and for all. Perhaps they were special, just like her and the children. Or perhaps they weren’t. But one thing was for sure; they had failed at whatever they set out to do, and predictably so, as Pennywise was a great and fearsome thing. It should make her sick to be the one paraded on the arm of a monster, but as the days went by and she was growing more numb to the realization of his true identity, she was starting to rationalize his actions more and more. There was some small part of her entrenched in the deepest, darkest dredges of her mind that found it attractive in him to be so dangerous, and that small part of her was growing more emboldened by the day as she considered his unwavering sweetness towards her and steadily came to the despicably selfish decision that that was all that mattered in the end. Not the lives of those lost to his hunger, or the perpetual cloud of dread descendent over the town’s collective heads, or the possible threat to the children, as awful as it all sounded. What she cared about was her, and him.

She wanted so badly to know that he was okay, it was nagging at her so insistently for days. She wondered if his whereabouts were in that of the house at 29 Neibolt Street or somewhere else entirely. She wondered if that well had something to do with his location. She’d heard it described by Bill as they returned from their unfortunate excursion, said that he’d seen him escape down it, down in the basement below the house, and that was where he’d finally lost him. She wondered if that well led someplace new, or if it were a place she’d somehow seen before. She’d thought that the Neibolt house was surely connected to his true location in a way; it simply made sense, given that they’d encountered him there, that she’d encountered him herself in that dream on New Year’s Eve. She wants to know if she can possibly track him down herself. Maybe that’s what she needed to do. Maybe she needed to find him on her own; maybe _that_ was how they would reunite. Pennywise clearly wasn’t coming back to her for a reason, and she intended to find out that reason, wanted to know why he had spent so long leaving her in seclusion when he’d even said he didn’t intend to do such a thing. 

_“The dreams are over, pretty girl. Pennywise is here, and he won’t ever leave you alone again. Never.”_

Why had he, then, chosen to do just that? It was something of a mystery to her, even if she had previously considered the reason why. She needed to know for sure. Though she dreads the answer, she wants to know whether or not he’s still alive and it’s enough to make her want to investigate. The trouble is, she’s not exactly sure where to start. 

After some deliberation, she decided to start with returning to the Neibolt house on her own. Maybe it would be different if she was by herself. Things were always different with Pennywise when it came to her, she knew that for a fact. Though he might have seen fit to torment just about anyone else with his games and ferocious appetite, he would never do the same for her. No, with her he was positively gentlemanly. He doted on her, he was smitten with her, she could tell. She knew by now that their attraction was more than mutual, even if she had a hard time believing it at first. He liked her enough to leave her gifts, to lavish her in love and affection, and to offer her a shoulder to cry on in her lowest times. She was... She was his _mate,_ she was supposed to be with him, he’d implied as much on their very first meeting. He’d reiterated several times that choice had nothing to do with it; she was simply made for him, and the two of them were meant to be together. Anyone else might have tried to run from such a thing, might have found it all questionable and dubious and utterly bizarre, but Angel was in love with the idea. She was a hopeless romantic at the end of the day, and she’d longed and wanted for years of something that would cherish her enough to stay with her forever. It was almost like a dream come true. She didn’t want that dream to end.

So she wouldn’t let it. She would investigate the matter thoroughly, and she would find out the answers to her questions if it killed her. She began with an agenda in mind, had decided to embark on a little quest some days after the incident, a quest that began as soon as her shift at the library was over. Once she had clocked out she made her way home, stopped in at her house to drop off her things, and then without deliberation she started on her journey over towards 29 Neibolt Street. The walk over was surprisingly pleasant; the weather was starting to wind down in the afternoon on an already temperate day, and she enjoyed a nice, consistent breeze as she strode down Witcham towards Route 2. All she had brought with her was Pepper, and she’d decided to wear her bell and sweater as a small show of faith (even donning her pearl heart earrings as a final touch), thinking that if she kept his precious gifts in her heart, he might feel her presence even from far away and be assured that she was coming, that she hadn’t forgotten him. These things made her feel secure, they made her feel safe in a world without his immediate presence, and she drank in the confidence gladly, knowing that she needed it if she was ever going to find him. She turns onto Route 2 and keeps going, intent on making it to her destination no matter what.

When she arrives she looks upon the house with a sense of wistfulness and melancholy. She remembers that dream, remembers how empty she had felt as she went about her day, how nothing could make her feel better, that she simply felt hopeless and downcast and incapable of any joy or delight. Until that warmth, until that familiar feeling swept over her, and carried her all the way to this dreary place on the outskirts of the town, how it had beckoned her inside with a simple chittering gust of wind and told her that this was the place she needed to be, right here, right now. And when she walks inside she doesn’t feel that warmth, she doesn’t feel that sensation sweeping over her like a wonderfully tepid fever, but nonetheless she keeps going anyway, knowing that she needed to stay strong if she was ever to find him. She needed not to lose hope or morale, even as she looked upon the distinctive decay of the house within and found that it was utterly devoid of his presence or aura. She was not afraid as she ducked under cobwebs and heard mice skittering around in the corners of the room, she did not shiver with fear as she heard the floors moaning under her feet. The house was dilapidated and unkempt but she saw a charm in it anyway, taking comfort in the fact that this was _his_ place, this was his domain. He was a part of it, there was no denying that.

When she finds the basement, she descends the steps with purpose. She wonders what she might possibly find down there, if she might find anything at all, and what might happen if she did. She entertains the thought of a reunion, the thought of them finding each other again and rushing into each other’s arms. How she would sob with joy, with purest elation at the sight of him, and how he would take her into a comforting sweep of his arms and tell her everything would be alright. It’s a pretty picture, and perhaps it wouldn’t come to pass, but she liked to think of it nonetheless. It gave her step just a little more purpose, gave her more strength, and she needed that strength now more than ever. As she trudges down the flight of stairs she finds herself squinting in the darkness, but there’s light from a nearby window to aid in her investigation. It casts enough of a spotlight that she can make out the well in the black of the room, and she makes her way towards it slowly, tentatively. Pepper is clutched in one hand, her bell is jingling softly about her neck as she walks. And when she gets there she simply looks down into it for a time, contemplating, ruminating. Thinking. 

So that’s where Pennywise might be, the bottom of this well. She wished she could see more. She wished she’d brought a flashlight, she wished she’d come more prepared in general, but to tell the truth this trip wasn’t very well planned out. To tell the truth, she’d simply gotten so restless the last few days, she just needed to come and see more for herself, discover what she’d missed the last time she was here. And... There was a part of her that simply expected for him to meet her there. She’d been looking for him as she walked through the house, she looked for any sign of him and thought that if maybe she tried hard enough she might just find him again. If the kids could encounter him so effortlessly, after all, just how hard could it be for her, a person he actually  _ wanted  _ to see? But try as she might, that simply turned out not to be the case, and she found herself just the slightest bit disheartened. What if he was actually dead? She doesn’t want to even consider it, but she needs to accept that it may just be the reality of the situation, that it might just unfortunately be the answer she was looking for. She stares down into the well with a sad look, stepping back to leave, but she’s suddenly struck with an idea. Looking into Pepper’s googly eyes, she’s filled with resolve. She paces back up the steps and out of the Neibolt house, but not before leaving her beloved doll behind at the base of the well.

She wastes no time when she walks back into her house. She strides in, she shuts the door, she walks brusquely over to her room and retrieves her purse. She promptly packs a few things, supplies that will surely come in handy should she need them, and replaces her Doc Martens with a pair of knee-high rain boots. She feeds Mayor Jello, gives him some quick affection, and sets out again. It’s evening now, and the sun is starting to set but that doesn’t deter her. She just walks. The journey back over seems to pass more swiftly than it ever has before; the passage of time simply meaning nothing now as she takes the path at a speedy march forward. In time her stride becomes a gait, and then almost a run as she fights to keep her breath, both out of exhaustion and excitement of a fashion. Making this trip not once but twice in one day should wipe her out completely but she’s too electrified by adrenaline to quit now; she simply keeps going. Witcham becomes Route 2 in no time at all, and once she happens upon Neibolt Street she looks upon the house once more with determination. Stepping back inside she’s greeted by more of the same, more dead silence and a concerning lack of warmth. Her bag slung over her torso, she walks through the parlor and coughs when she walks through a cloud of dust. The scent of stale must is ubiquitous, and it's pervasive now more than ever as she walks through the house. When she makes it to the basement she takes a deep breath and descends down the steps again, and when she makes it to the well, she’s met with a pleasant absence. It was just as she hoped. Pepper is gone.

She smiles, and immediately reaches into her bag. She pulls out a long and winding rope and knots it over the well, creating a cable with which to rappel down with. She admires her handiwork, and then considers her next logical step; scaling down the well, a task much easier said than done, especially with her weight. To tell the truth, this absolutely terrified her. Never in a million years would she have thought she would be doing a thing like this willingly, but then she remembers what she’s doing it for, and suddenly it all doesn’t seem so scary. This was for him. She was doing this for him. Taking a deep breath she grabs hold of the rope and climbs over the side, and then gingerly she lets go of the ledge with her leg. She immediately almost slips down the rope but she catches herself just in time, ignoring the burn as she holds herself steady with everything she’s got. She hoped to god the rope wouldn’t slip or break; the last thing she needed was to die or be grievously injured from a several hundred foot drop down a well, and she’s careful to keep her grip as she shimmies down the rope one inch at a time, taking her time, moving slowly so as not to upset her rig. She’s moved down a couple feet now, a couple excruciating feet, and she’s exhausted but she keeps going, determined despite all her pain and fatigue. She keeps her eye on the wall for any potential pathways she can take, and just as she can no longer see the light from the window above she finds a hole in the wall she can slip through. She lowers herself enough that she can reach the hole with her legs, and then she swings into it and grabs hold. She climbs in.

The stench is immediate, and she knows to ignore it. These were the sewers, after all, and she couldn’t expect it to smell anything less than vile. She’s crawling on her hands and knees through the passageway until she finds herself in a room underground, a conduit to more tunnels with a staircase and a door. All she can think about is the reunion now that was surely to come; he was alive, she knew that now. How else would Pepper have gone missing from the well so quickly? It was a gift from her, and he’d accepted it, and now it was only a matter of time before they were back together. She smiles at the thought as she walks amid the grime, ignoring the puddles of grey water as they slosh about her rainboot-clad feet. She imagined all of his features, features burned so vividly into her mind that she could recall them all perfectly. His hair, his lips, his impossibly tall stature and that beautiful silken suit. His eyes... She loved his eyes most of all, they were so gorgeously bright like solar flares, and she so loved to look into them, even if it made her dizzy and disoriented and weak. In a way, that was what she loved so much about them, they had the power to make her feel things she had never felt before, a madness in her blood just fighting to break free, one that she couldn’t quell no matter how she tried. She thinks of it as she moves along through the tunnels, trying to find her way to a place she recognized in the back of her mind; the place from her thoughts, the place from her dreams, where she knew she would surely find him.

The tunnels are getting darker and more intricate, and she has her flashlight out through it all, using it as a guiding light. But she can’t stop herself from getting lost amongst it all, starting to forget where she’d gone and where she had come from. She tries to concentrate on the task at hand but finds she’s too excited to keep a clear head. She just wants to find him, she just wants to see him, it’s what she’s wanted in her head ever since he left her. She missed him so much, it was an ache unlike anything she’d ever experienced before, and she wanted so desperately to alleviate it. It was like a piece of her was missing, and she wanted that missing piece back more than anything, so despite her confusion she keeps going. She wanted to run to him when she found him, she wanted to kiss him and hold him and never let him go again. She wanted to make sure he was okay, that he was safe; she wanted to protect him, take care of him and nurse him if need be. It was a part of her she couldn’t rightly control. It was a compulsion, an instinct, and it consumed her like a sickness. She’s getting all turned around now, and the flashlight is no help. She can hear the water rushing from a nearby cesspool and it starts to ring in her ears. The grey water is flooding around her feet and she’s so grateful she’s wearing boots. She trudges forward through the tunnels, continuing on her way even if she doesn’t particularly know where she was going. She believed that in the end of this, it would all be okay. She believed it would all resolve itself, that she would discover a way out of this labyrinth and make her way to her rightful destination. She believed that he was still alive, and she believed she was going to find him eventually. She believed.

And then she hears a voice in the distance, one she can’t mistake. She hears it, she knows it, it makes her heart pound restlessly in her chest. It’s faint, it’s paper-thin but she can still detect it echoing gently in the distance, calling to her, beckoning her towards it. And then, against all better judgment, she starts to run. The grey water is splashing around her heels now, she’s shining her flashlight at the path in front of her as she plods along quickly and frantically. She tries so hard to keep her composure but the truth is she’s so worked up, she’s too drunk with joy at the thought of seeing him again. It’s all she needs to keep going, to keep following his voice. As she scurries through the tunnels, making her way through various twists and turns she’s more delirious than ever but she’s sure-footed; she knows where she’s going now. It’s almost as though the voice is blazing a path in front of her, it’s almost as though she can feel his hands guiding her through the passageways, and she’s warm now despite the cold chill of the sewers. It’s the same warmth from all the times of before, the one that would reassure her in all the times of bad when she felt like she was all alone in the world, the one that made her feel safe and at ease when nothing else could, the one that let her know that he was coming. She rounds another corner and keeps going; she keeps going even as she’s running out of breath, and her feet are killing her, and her heartbeat is thumping in her ears. And then, just as the voice goes quiet, she finds it.

A great, big open space in the center of it all, dark and intimidating, stands there before her eyes. It’s so late now that the sky above offers no light to help her wandering gaze, and as she steps down into the cistern to assess and discern her surroundings she shines her light in the daunting black. So far she’s finding nothing but grey water beneath her feet, grey water and, strangely, the occasional stray object. Battered furniture, different articles of clothing, the odd children’s toy. She’s puzzled by it but she doesn’t think to question it right now; she simply continues in her silent investigation. She’s almost certain she can feel him, the warmth was simply too unmistakable, and the voice was fairly damning as well unless she simply imagined it. She walks along, hearing nothing but the grey water. And then she shines her light upward, she comes upon a mass in the center of the dwelling. A big mass, a _huge_ mass. It reaches impossibly skyward from what she can tell, and to her utter amazement it appears to be a pile of more of the same from before, lost curios and things she can only assume he’s collected over time from his victims. That had to be the only explanation. She continues in her exploration, her flashlight travelling slowly upward until she finds the top of the heap, and from there her jaw practically drops open. There at the crown of it all is a most disturbing sight, and one she has to stop herself from being disgusted by. Countless bodies drift there in the air around the mound of lost trinkets, weightless to the air, unaffected by gravity. 

_ (( “You’ll float with the rest of them” )) _

She simply stares, unable to take her eyes off it, awestruck in truly the worst way. And then she hears something. She pauses, listening, tuning in to the noise, and she discerns it to be a growl of some kind coming from inside the mound. Her heart thundering in her chest, she cocks her head and shines the light on the source of it, only to find nothing. But she doesn’t stop. She circles around the pile with her flashlight, following the sound keenly as she moves through the grime. And then she finds it. A wagon of some kind, grand and tall stands buried underneath the mass of lost objects, and she can see his visage in the middle of it. “Pennywise the Dancing Clown,” it reads in an appropriately circus-esque lettering. Her heart stops. Ignoring her unease at the silence now present in the cistern, she quickly climbs up to the door and presses her ear against it.

“P-Pennywise?” She asks nervously, her voice echoing in the emptiness. She hears nothing, but that doesn’t deter her just yet. She knocks on the door. Still nothing.

She steps back, dismayed and silent. She considers the door for a time, her eyes trailing over it in thought, and she desperately wishes she knew how to open it. She can’t even begin to imagine the mechanics of how it works; she  _ knows  _ there’s a way for it to open, she just doesn’t know how. It frustrates her, but she tries not to let it get to her too much. She needed to remain calm. So she speaks to him. 

“Pennywise, I... I’ve missed you so much.” 

She almost feels like she’s talking to herself, but she can’t bring herself to stop nonetheless. She didn’t want to leave without some kind of answer from him. She hoped that the sound of her voice was enough to coax him out somehow, but given his lack of response so far she’s not exactly hopeful. 

“I’ve been so lonely lately, I’ve been feeling so empty ever since you left and I... I can’t help it. I want you back.” Tears are starting to well in her eyes as she looks up at the picture of him on the wagon. “...I just want you back.” 

She thinks about him then, about who he is, and how much it had disgusted her when she had first discovered it. But now, against all odds, after all this time, she simply didn’t care anymore. She loved him regardless of who he was.

She starts to pull weakly on the door to the wagon, hoping in vain that if maybe she believed it would open, if she tried hard enough it simply would, that it would fall ajar and she would finally find him, waiting for her there in its confines. She’s starting to pull harder now, she’s putting her everything into it, grunting and whining as she tugs on the wooden door but it simply won’t give. The tears are stinging her eyes more than ever but she doesn’t stop to wipe them away, she simply keeps pulling, and tugging, and jerking, and yanking on the door but no matter how hard she tries to jimmy it it won’t budge for her. No matter how much strength and will she exerts, the door is nothing but an obstacle keeping her from the one thing she so desperately wants more than anything and she gets upset, she cries out in frustration and kicks the door as hard as she can. The wood echoes hollowly in the darkness of the cistern. She stands there dejected, helpless and hopeless and ready to call it quits.

But _ then. _

She can hear something metal start to shift from inside and she perks up. Looking at the door she can see it start to open towards her like a drawbridge, and she steps back to allow it room to fully expand outward. Speechless, she can see a dim orange light illuminating the inside of the wagon, and there towards the back...

_ Pennywise. _

He’s still visibly disheveled, his hair is messy and unkempt, and the metal rod is still stuck in his head, but he’s there, alive and in the flesh all the same. She chokes on her relief, blinking back more tears as she looks upon him from the floor of the cistern. He’s crouched, almost like a wild animal in repose, and he’s nuzzling against Pepper. She wants to come towards him more than anything. She takes a step forward and the grey water splashes under her feet, and the sound alerts him fully to her presence. He looks up with a low growl and then he sees her, and his face softens. He drops the toy.


	25. Reunion

Her heart simply breaks at the sight of him. She’s awestruck, she’s speechless, the breath has been taken right out of her lungs and she’s paralyzed. Frozen in place, her eyes scan over him repeatedly and she has to keep from doing a double take out of utter disbelief that she’s really seeing him again. She wants to run to him immediately but she can’t move, she’s still processing it, processing the tunnels and the cistern and all the dead floating children and that rusty fence still impaling his head. And oh, the sight of it makes her insides twist, there’s simply no words to describe how she feels looking upon it now, the grievous injury she had a direct hand in causing. It drowns her in guilt, she has to fight back the self hatred, the roiling resentment she feels within herself, not just at her own involvement but that of the children as well, who had so foolishly decided to intervene and set off this deadly chain of events in the first place. It doesn’t play on her face but she’s angry at it all, she’s angry that he’d gotten hurt, angry that she hadn’t gotten there sooner…

_Angry that Beverly attacked him._

She steps forward, regarding him with the same careful gaze. She cocks her head, staring at him, trying so hard to discern the look in his eye as she moves, stepping mindfully over stray objects as she comes closer. He appears to be regarding her with some kind of silent scrutiny too; his stare never leaves hers as he lays there, propped up against the back of the wagon, dim light haloing his ghostly features. There’s no smile on his face, a detail she notes with disappointment, but she tries not to let that deter her so much. She knew he was probably hurting, hurting badly, that it was probably taking his everything not to lash out at her, so she couldn’t rightly fault him for not immediately lighting up at the sight of her. _Especially not when she was the reason he had gotten hurt,_ she thinks to herself sadly. When she finally comes close enough to the wagon to scale up the door she can hear him start to growl and she stops. The growls are low and beastly, but once she’s waited for a time, once she’s determined that it’s safe again, she keeps going and starts to climb up onto the wooden stage. He doesn’t try to retreat from her or rebuff her advances, he simply stays where he is, content to keep snarling quietly as she draws ever closer. She’s gentle.

“P-Pennywise?” She asks timidly, coming closer and closer still. “It’s me.” She pauses for a moment, appearing to consider what she’s just said, and then she adds. “...It’s _only_ me.”

The growling stops. She smiles faintly, and then she keeps going. As she comes closer to him she can see his face more and more, and it tugs at her heartstrings the way his face is so mangled and monstrous as a result of the attack. It’s less so now that it’s been a few days, but she can still see the jagged teeth poking out of his cheek and the red in his eye as his chest rumbles with deep sounds of disquiet. But despite it all there’s a softness about him now, a softness she can’t deny, like he’s trying so earnestly not to upset her with his ragged appearance, trying to reassure her that things were okay despite his pain. It’s enough to draw her in closer, enough to spur her on in her current objective, enough to put her at ease despite all her worry and concern. She looks at him, tears in her eyes now as she keeps going. She looks him in the face, never faltering.

“A-Are you… O-Okay?” She asks somberly. She doesn’t receive an answer, she’s coming closer and closer still. She’s almost closing the distance, she’s almost there, and the closer she gets the more her heart breaks, shattering as she considers what’s happened to him and that she hadn’t done nearly enough to stop it. She regards him warily as she continues on, wanting so badly not to upset him more, hoping more than anything that he would not shrink away or brush her off when she got to him. She simply didn’t think that she could take that rejection, not now. She just couldn’t. “You don’t… You don’t _look_ okay, and it’s all because of me. I’m… I’m so _sorry,_ Pennywise.” She finally reaches him and simply collapses next to him on the wagon, starting to sob dejectedly into her hands. She doesn’t dare to look up at him now, she’s just kneeling before him and begging for forgiveness, groveling pathetically and hoping that he didn’t think too lowly of her for her transgressions. She wanted his absolution, wanted his acceptance so badly. She’d hurt him, and she wanted to atone for that, more than anything, so she whimpers and pleads with him in her misery, she finds his chest with her hands and starts to cling to him, nuzzling against the silk, dampening it with her sorrow. She rubs her hot cheeks against his suit in longing to recapture what had been lost, that wonderful, familiar feeling she would get when they shared each other’s embrace and the reassurance that everything was going to be okay. After some time, it’s just silence. Silence and her woeful sniffling, and she just continues to mumble, almost endlessly. 

“I’m so sorry, I’m so _sorry,_ I…” As she clings to him she slowly wraps her arms around his midsection, she hugs him tight now and doesn’t let go. She doesn’t intend to let him go ever again. And after some time, spent quietly nuzzled against his chest, she can start to feel that warmth start to build inside of her. Her eyes open slowly as she feels it grow stronger, and then she finally feels the heaven-sent sensation of arms circling around her back. She looks up, puzzled, and he’s looking down at her with the gentlest, most tranquil gaze. Though his hair is still disheveled and the rod still impales his eye, his face seems to have otherwise returned to normal, and there’s no longer seething red in his stare. There’s a hum in his chest, that one she had felt up against her back so many times before as they laid together in the darkness of her room at night, and he’s silent but she knows better, she knows that the look in his eye can communicate more than any words ever could in this moment. The wagon seems to have closed itself again, secluding them from anyone or anything that could ever possibly interrupt them, and Angel is breathless as he slowly strokes her cheek. They look into each other’s eyes for a time, and then she can’t take it anymore. She leans in and kisses him.

The sensation is unlike anything else. The moment she presses her lips into his he slides a hand up the back of her head and leans into it, and she takes that opportunity to cling to him tighter. Her hands travel up the length of his back and rest gently at the nape of his neck now, she forgets how to breathe as she gets lost in the sensation of his tongue against hers. She’s just so glad to be here with him that she loses all control, she whimpers into his mouth helplessly and moves up closer into his lap. He leans back more into the wall of the wagon and purrs; it’s a rumbling sound in his chest that makes her shiver with delight and she kisses him harder, she’s kissing him again and again like the only way for her to breathe was through him. She can’t believe she’s feeling him in her hands again, she simply cannot fathom it but she’s never forgotten the sensation, it was simply burned into her mind like everything else. She just clings to him, the only bastion she’s ever wanted or needed, and communicates her desperate longing and desire through a wordlessly passionate exchange. When it ends, when Angel finally pulls away she sinks down to rest her head against his chest again, staring off into the nothing as she traces circles in the silk there with one delicate finger.

“...I missed you so much.”

He’s still purring, a sound so reassuring to her that she lets her guard down completely. Giving herself to the complete security of his embrace, she sighs and closes her eyes. She savors the moment, simply letting the quiet take over as seconds become minutes. After an eternity of silence between them, she finally hears his voice again, and the sound is music to her ears.

“...And I missed you too, my pretty pet.”

She’s quiet. “Why did you leave? W-Why didn’t you come back to me?” 

She had never stopped wondering. His absence shocked her to her very core; after all that he had done for her, after all the days he had spent dutifully keeping her company, vowing never to leave her alone again, it had struck her all as odd. Very odd indeed. Pennywise appears to consider his answer, still humming, still purring.

“I was… Merely honoring your wishes. You said you wanted it all to go away.”

She opens her eyes, and tears prickle in them again as she looks up at him. She’s hurt. “I d-didn’t want… I didn’t want _you_ to go away, just… Just all the bad feelings. I’ve been… So lonely, ever since you left.”

“As have I.” He confides. “I wanted to come back to you so _badly,_ darling, it’s all that’s been on my mind. But I didn’t want you to turn me away, didn’t want you to reject me, knowing what you know now. About me. Who I am.”

Angel looks up at him, her mouth ever so slightly agape. Suddenly it all flashes through her mind; what she’d seen in the archives, what she’d seen in the Neibolt house, all the rumors and hearsay, all the missing kid posters, all the floating children above the cistern. The shopkeeper… Patrick… _Georgie…_ She should hate him for all of that, should hate him for who he is, for such abhorrent actions. She should feel sick at the thought of being… Of being made for something so cruel, made to keep the company of such a monster. She should reject fate and never look back, she should run away from him. But she remembers everything he’s done for her, she remembers just how kind and sweet he’s always been. She remembers all the gifts and all the special little gestures, and she realizes she doesn’t want to. As much as she’s sure that makes her a terrible person, she doesn’t care anymore. She loves him.

She shakes her head, taking his hand in hers. “I don’t _care_ about any of that anymore, I just want to be with you. No matter what.”

“I wanted you to come back to me on your own terms.” He continues, squeezing back. The look in his eye is somber and solemn. “It all means nothing if you don’t feel the same way, Angel, I won’t have a soulmate who feels obligated to be with me.”

That wasn’t… The truest statement in the universe, but it was true enough. Pennywise didn’t want an unwilling soulmate. He didn’t want a soulmate who felt burdened with the duty of staying by his side, he wanted one that would do so out of love and devotion for him, _true_ love and devotion. He wanted her to want him as much as he wanted her. And he would get what he wanted, no matter what. It didn’t matter if he had to do things the hard way. If he had to take her kicking and screaming until she eventually resigned herself to her fate, he would. If he had to break her pretty little mind and hypnotize her with the searing, seething power of the deadlights until she convinced herself in her mind that he was all she desired, he would. Pennywise would not accept failure in this, he would see it to the end no matter what, because this was his greatest happiness, and he would let nothing stand in the way between him and his greatest happiness. He cared for her, he cared for her a great deal, but his own satisfaction was paramount. She was the closest thing to his equal that could ever possibly be, but she was, in the end, still merely a human girl, and humans did not get a choice. They were all simply pawns for his manipulation, and though she was his queen, he was still her king, and he had the final say.

“I… I _do_ feel the same way.” She insists. Her eyes regard the rod impaling his temple once more, and her heart breaks all over again. She desperately wishes she could make it better, in any way she possibly could, and then she considers her purse, still strapped across her chest. She’s suddenly overcome with a strange, powerful compulsion and her other hand starts to trail from his lap and up the side of his head. She caresses him there, softly, gently so as not to cause him any pain. “And I… I want to be with you.” Her hand finds the rod, and she rubs at the point of entry. She looks at him with purest sympathy when he winces ever so slightly. “I want to take care of you, and make sure nothing happens to you. I…” Her hand wraps around the metal.

_I love you, Pennywise._

She rips it out and all of Derry stands still as he roars out in pain. She quickly casts it to the side and clings to him, one arm wrapped around his back and the other holding his cheek, rubbing it, shushing him until he starts to quiet down. His pained howls devolve into snarling growls, and from there to a simple rumbling disquiet in his chest. She presses her cheek to his and a fresh tear slips down her face. 

“It’s okay, i-its okay… I’m here.” She sighs. She pulls away to look at him again, and she can observe fresh blood rolling up his brow and from his temple, floating rivulets that disappear into the distance above. She almost finds it beautiful. “Here, let me treat you.” 

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a washcloth with a bottle of water and some hand soap. She wasn’t sure what had possessed her when she decided to pack these things, she simply felt that she was going to need them. She uncaps the water bottle. She wets the washcloth and lathers it, and then she gingerly presses it up against the wound at his eye, freezing up when she can hear him start to growl again. She pauses, then starts to carefully rub at it with a feather-light hand. Pennywise is still and mostly silent apart from the occasional snarl, and he lets Angel do her work without resistance. It pleases him. It pleases him that she’s so intent on this, on treating him, taking care of him. To tell the truth, these injuries were nothing. They meant little to a creature as great as he, and he could have recovered from them easily with little problem. But he knew what all of this meant to her, and knew that she blamed herself for what had happened with those stupid little children. He wasn’t about to correct her. He wasn’t about to waste such a lovely opportunity, presented to him on a silver platter. It had brought her back to him, it had inspired her to abandon her morals completely, so really, what was a little guilt and obligation on her part to nurse him back to health? The ends justified the means.

He decides to play up his injuries, wincing just enough for her to notice, a deep, rumbling in his chest underscoring the silence, shaking up from the floor of the wagon beneath them and she hesitates with every brush of the washcloth. She’s tentative, she’s careful, she pulls back ever so slightly when he recoils and almost falters in continuing her work out of… What was the word? Fear? Not for herself, necessarily, she trusted him more than she trusted anyone else, trusted him not to hurt her, but she feared she was hurting _him,_ feared it might set him off. She… Feared he might leave her again. But despite her fear, there’s something else there too. Something good, something wonderful. Something that almost made her forget all her misgivings and doubts. It was a capricious feeling, a lingering, persistent one, and it made her insides stir with impatience, excitement of a flavor she dared not name. It’s starting to build up inside of her as she takes care of him, as she takes care to nurse him as best she can; a desperate, wanton feeling, something almost shameful. But it’s not shameful, it could never be shameful when it feels this right. Never when it made her glow like this. It wasn’t the first time she’d ever felt this way; there were plenty of occasions in which he stirred up these thoughts inside of her, plenty of times he’d teased her or made promises of something more. But now seemed to be different. Here between them was a tension different from all the others, chemicals that concocted a perfume of mutual desire so powerful that she could simply _feel_ it. Pennywise could feel it too, could see it rolling off of her in waves, and it brought him so much pleasure that he could hardly contain himself. She wanted him, it was as clear as day. She hadn’t been ready before, hadn’t been ready to take that leap in their relationship for so long but… Now, now was different.

She looks him up and down. “There…” She says. “You’re already starting to look a little better.” The gash across his eye, though still intimidating and sizably concerning, seems to have receded ever so slightly as a result of her treatment. It’s stopped bleeding and it no longer looks festered and raw.

“...Shouldn’t have let that girl sneak up on me like that.” He says bitterly. “Foolish of me, to forget she was there.” He thought it best to pin the brunt of the blame on the children. They were, after all, the ones truly at fault. Though he knew she had already taken his side, he knew her allegiance would only grow stronger the more he nurtured those seeds already planted in her mind. She was a loyal girl to those who were worthy, just like him, and he had decided long ago that he would become the only thing in the world she promised her trust to. So he would sow those seeds, he would see them to full maturity, and he would harvest the fruits of his labor when the time was ripe. He would make sure she would forsake everyone and everything else, that she would not care for the safety or wellbeing of anyone outside of him. He would make sure of it.

She gives him a sad look, continuing to sanitize his wounds just a little more. One hand is cupped around his head, rooted gingerly in fiery tendrils of disheveled hair and the other ever-so-delicately tending to his injury. The distance between them is growing smaller by the second and despite his discomfort he’s delighted by it, delighted at how he can smell her emotions; her care, her overwhelming concern for him, perfuming her lovely visage in the most captivating way. Though he's wounded, his pride more so than his physical being, he cannot deny how beautiful she is before him, on her knees and displaying her love and loyalty to him through such prudent displays of concern and worry, just how mindful she is in making sure he's okay, that he doesn't continue to suffer. It is where she belongs; at his side, looking after him just as he would do for her, the only thing in all of creation that Pennywise would regard with any modicum of consideration beside himself. His love, his soulmate.

“You don’t have eyes on the back of your head.” She pauses. “Well, you didn’t in your current form. I'm sure you could if you… N-Never mind. Point is, you couldn't have predicted she would do that. It... It's okay."

“Mhmm…”

As she finishes sanitizing, she puts away her supplies and starts to reach into her purse for gauze to dress his wound. While she’s occupied in her task, one massive hand rises to rest on the curve of her waist, gently stroking down her thigh. She rifles through her bag, trying fruitlessly to recover the bandages, not noticing that he’s tapping his fingers lightly at her hip in a clear indication of desire. He says her name.

She looks up, flustered. “P-Penny?”

Even in such a position he towers over her. His fingers are drumming there, softly on her skin. Dipping forward, he tilts her chin with his other hand. His intent is clear, he's leaning in.

"But I'm… I'm not done--"

**"It can wait."**

"I--"

His lips are so soft when they meet hers. She whines into his mouth; a delicate, needy sound that he relishes as he moves in closer and deepens it. She can’t stop herself from leaning into it, dizzy with such suddenly overwhelming desire that she loses grip over all control. Pennywise is more than ready and willing to guide her, pulling back from the kiss and pushing her gently down onto the floor of the wagon. The dim glow lighting up the space is ethereal, and as she lays before him she can see all her gifts to him from before floating in an elegant circle above them both, including her very first, her hair scrunchie tied around the string of a beautiful, red helium balloon. It bobs at the top of the wagon, and she doesn’t know how she didn’t notice it before now. She looks up at him, utterly small and vulnerable beneath him and he feels such a powerful rush of perverse lust coursing through him. He savors the moonstruck look in her eyes, the mad craving in her veins and he breathes in the sweet perfume of her longing. He could do anything to her. He could do anything, any number of cruel, horrible things and yet she trusts him so implicitly, she’s given herself to his will completely and utterly. She not only wants him, she _needs_ him; her skin and every drop of blood in her body is screaming for his touch, and he knows it. With a simple flick of his wrist, with just the smallest flash of hostility he could ruin her. He could subject her to such mortal pain and suffering, just as he had done to so many countless others before. He could wipe out her existence in a second, but he won’t. Not her, never her. It would be a true display of his godlike power not to shatter her in his hands, to exercise restraint and make her sing in rapturous exaltation for him instead. She was his, she was made for him, and he needed to take care of her. After all, she took care of him.

“P-P-Penny…” She breathes. “I’m… I’m a…”

“...A virgin. Yes, I know, my darling.”

“I- _How?”_

“Simple.” He says. “I know everything there is to know about you… The moment you came crying from your mother’s womb, I knew. I knew, even as I slept, how you grew to be the willful, stubborn, caring girl that you are. I knew when you took your first step, the first words you spoke; about every art piece you poured your soul into, every single marching competition you dripped blood, sweat, and tears for. I knew you were here when I woke from my slumber. I could feel your heartbeat, could hear the blood coursing through your veins. You and I are one, sweet thing. You’re mine, and that which is mine must come to me unspoiled by the unworthy hands of others…” 

He’s silent now, looking down on her as she listens, rapt, to his words. The same word keeps flashing through her mind. _Mate._ It’s all she can think of, and it only rekindles the pent-up lust in her belly. She was his mate.

“...The one thing I’ll admit I didn’t anticipate was your connection with _them._ I could never see it, for how could something so dear to me be allied with such troublesome thorns in my side…”

“...I won’t let them hurt you again.” She promises quietly beneath him. He cups her cheek with a smile.

“Such a sweet, considerate little thing you are… So protective of your Pennywise, so willing to come to his rescue and keep him from harm… I know you won’t let them hurt me, precious, just as I would not let a thing on this earth harm a single hair on your head, not without paying the consequences.”

She shivers with delight at his words, spoken in such a deliciously low purr that has her arching her spine ever so slightly. She lets that lust course through her veins freely, whimpering as his attention is drawn somewhere else now. His gaze falls lower, on two raised peaks poking through the fabric of her sweater. They lock eyes with one another in a silent moment of contemplation, in a mental communication of mutual desire, and then once he’s certain he has her consent he smiles. He slides one hand underneath the fabric of her sweater to find her breasts, her pert little nipples hard with excitement and begging for his touch. She pushes her chest up with another simpering whine.

“Pen--P-Pennywise, please, I… UnnN—"

He has both hands in there now, one hand for each breast, groping and massaging them with enough care not to hurt her but with enough force to have her restless with titillation.

“Naughty little girl…” He says lowly, and her own hands, small and delicate in contrast to his, reach up to pull his face down. She meets his lips again for another kiss. He growls and leans into it, fondling her tits, pulling and twisting her nipples with lewd enthusiasm as she lets her own hands wander down to her jeans, unbuttoning them and sliding them off her legs as she kicks off her boots. The cold chill of the sewers is starting to seep into her bones but the presence of Pennywise is enough to keep her warm, so she lifts her arms and allows him to peel the sweater from her body, flinging it forgotten into one corner of the wagon behind him. He’s pleased to find that she’s wearing the necklace he’d given her for her birthday, the bell jingling joyfully about her throat as she writhes with helpless desire for him. She is bare before him now except for one last remaining line of defense, a simple pair of black silk underwear with a little bow affixed to the lace trim. He reaches down between her legs, one hand cupping her hip, the other snaking into the crotch of her panties. He runs his gloved fingers up and down her slit to gauge her wetness, finding that her arousal is soaking through the fabric of his glove.

“So wanton, so greedy for me, little pet…” He leans in close to her face, huffing warm, wet breath into her ear with a low, purring growl. _“...I like it.”_

She bucks her hips into his hand; restless, antsy, desperate for him, and he can only oblige in his attentions. He slips in a digit, and then another, finding that the sticky slick of her arousal is more than enough to aid him in his exploration. He fingers her lazily for a few moments, dipping down to lick up and down her neck. “Are you ready, Angel?” He whispers huskily into her neck. He looks up at her and she shudders at the warmth of his stare. His eye is already starting to heal, and she can see the heat burning within, glowing as he regards her with a sultry stare. “You want me… Don’t you?” She nods shakily, her chest heaving as she breathes heavily. He cups her cheek with a warm smile, his other hand hooking a claw into her panties and ripping them away. She’s unable to look away from his eyes, keeping her gaze rooted to his as he reaches down to his own crotch. She hears a seam split.

The feeling of something heavy and sinuous and undulating catches her by surprise, and she cries out when it thrashes out of his pantaloons and rests against her vulnerable cunt. Whatever is down there feels alive between the spread of her legs and she’s almost afraid to look at it, but instead of shying away from it she only lets the thrill of the unknown consume her in this moment. She unconsciously spreads her legs wider and bucks into it, squirming weakly, writhing helplessly. He grins, taking her reaction as a sign of clear consent, and aligns his cock at her virgin hole. He starts to push in slowly. The burning stretch is immediate; she whines in muted pain but squeezes his shoulders in silent encouragement to keep going. He grins down at her, pushing in more, but the more he moves the worse the pain gets for her. Starting to sob, she throws her head back into the floor of the wagon in agony. He stops and pulls out.

“Are you okay, sweetness?”

“Y-Yes, I’m… It just h-hurts… So bad…” She whimpers quietly. She sniffles and wipes away her tears, squeezing his shoulders again. “I w-want it, I want t-to but I… I guess I’m just not… Used to it yet.” He pulls back from her with a frown and her heart sinks ever so slightly. He’s silent, he appears to be thinking, contemplating what he might do next. Then she can see it on his face, that he knows what to do, and she watches him readjust into a cross-legged position. He beckons to her with his hand. 

“Then come to me, Angel.” He whispers. “Sit with me, take your own time; allow me inside as you see fit.”

Her eyes bloom with tears and she’s speechless. She’s so taken with surprise at his behavior that she doesn’t know what to do or say, she simply sits up and stares at him. She didn’t know what to expect honestly; some part of her expected him not to care, that he would tell her to deal with it or just keep going. That he stopped for her and expressed his concern should have come as no surprise based on his history of behavior but nevertheless such consideration and chivalry on her behalf means the world to her.

“Come to me, pretty thing.” He breathes. “Let me make it all right.”

She hesitates, her stomach churning with wanton desire as she gets up onto her knees. She slowly makes her way across the floor of the wagon and into his lap, barely breathing all the while. Once she’s there she rests her hands on his shoulders again, feeling another orgasmic rush of lust wash over when he caresses her hips with those massive gloved hands, doing everything in his power to bring her under his spell and make the transition easier. He smiles down at her. He was so vastly pleased with it all; she was like putty in his hands now, now more so than ever. Now that the hardest part was over, now that she had come to find out who he truly was and accepted it, he could truly do as he pleased with her. Though the most delicious spoils of all had been out of his reach for so long, it made it all the more satisfying to taste them now that they were finally within his grasp, and Pennywise intended to savor every single one. Oh yes, now that he had won this particular conquest, the sky was the limit as to what they could do together. He intended to have her in every possible way, but that was getting ahead of the game. For now...

“Just take your time, my love.” He whispers, looking down into her with warm golden eyes. “All the time you need…” She nods shakily, returning his gaze and taking his words to heart. She breathes deeply, positioning herself carefully above his cock. She slowly lowers herself, letting it brush against her slit again, and when the tip of it pushes inside she slows out of instinct with a hiss of pain, feeling the soreness from before flare up in the raw nerves of her cunt. And all the while he’s lavishing her with quiet encouragement, telling her to keep going, that she can do it and she believes him. It’s just as hard now, just as painful… But this time it’s different. She counts the seconds as she makes her way down, pulling back and pushing down again in slow, shaky movements on top of him, gasping as his length buries itself within her deeper every time. But it’s easier when she can move on her own, and Pennywise allows her the freedom to choose her own pace, his hands simply acting as a guiding, silent support at her hips. He’s growling with pleasure of his own as her tightness engulfs the head of his cock and, hands clasped around his neck now, she continues her way downward. Once she’s halfway down his cock she pauses to catch her breath, letting out a choked sob as she buries her face in the ruffles at his neck. It feels good, so good, but it also hurts. He’s gentle with her, as gentle as ever.

“You’re doing so well, so good…” He purrs huskily in her ear, coaching her. “The hardest part is over now… Keep going, keep moving, yes… Yes… _Good girl…_ ” He leans forward to lick up the side of her neck, and she mewls so sweetly when he nips at the sensitive skin there, these delicate touches making it so much easier for her to follow his instructions. She finally makes it all the way down to the base of his cock, pressing her naked body flush into the silk of his suit and they both take a moment in each other’s arms to breathe. They look into each other’s eyes, savoring the deliciously eternal moment of fitting together like two puzzle pieces made for one another. She eases up again. She establishes a slow but steady rhythm and it gains momentum with each beat. Pennywise is gentle and encouraging in a way that would be uncharacteristic with anyone else but not with her. Never with her. He simply gives her hushed praise and quiet support, bolstering her with sweet words and delicious touches, building her up as she starts to move ever so slightly faster. Once he’s sensed that she’s suitably adjusted to his length he starts to return her thrusts. He’s rutting up into her cunt with a slow and stable cadence now, chest swelling with pride when her sobbing hiccups of pain are replaced in time with breathy moans of pleasure.

“P-P-Pennywiise I—Unnh— _Aaah…_ ”

He’s making noises of his own, growling and snarling, fighting to keep his baser instincts from bubbling over the surface, keeping his claws from breaking through the silk of his gloves and poking into her thighs. No, the time for that would come later. There would come a time where she would beg and plead with him to take her roughly, to pin her to the ground and fuck her cunt raw until she was bruised and bloody, until she could barely walk, but that time was not now. He needed to be gentle now, and let this time, this first time, be special for her. He would give her what she wanted, would be her perfect prince charming for the time being, and the beast would come out later, but only when she asked for it. His cock is so big that it’s brushing against her clit with every thrust and it spurs her on, stimulating her in all the right ways as she moves on top of him. She’s leaning into him, her arms hooked around his ruffled neck, establishing a faster tempo with each movement of her hips. 

Pennywise does not hold back his noises, he growls openly into her ear, knowing how much it appeals to a part of her she doesn’t yet fully understand. It was in her very nature to be submissive, he knew that, and not in just a sexual context. She was submissive in every sense of the word, had spent her entire life backing down from others and taking the path of least resistance. Though she tried in vain to hide such a vulnerable quality from the world with her brash persona, she could never hide it from him. No, it was his business to know every intimate detail about her, and this was a particularly delicious one he would delight in exploiting. He had already exploited it a great deal as it was, knowing all too well that when given a choice between severing ties with him or accepting who he was regardless of how vile his true identity was, she would readily steer into the skid as it were. There was never truly a question of whether or not she would come back to him; he knew she would eventually, because this was who she was. She ate up his manipulations like candy, took to all his tamperings with perfect docility, and all because she was too subservient to challenge his will, too slavish to ask the real questions of him and demand an honest answer. It was what made her his perfect mate; Pennywise did not want someone who would fight him or quarrel with him needlessly every step of the way, he wanted one whom he could dominate, mold into satisfying his every great desire, and Angel was nothing if not pliable. He was lazy by nature, wanted his relationship to come naturally to him. He cared only for the hedonistic aspects of life; that is, he wanted to eat, sleep, and fuck his mate’s brains out forever. Anything else was too high maintenance to bother with, and he knew Angel would change herself however she needed to accommodate him, because her fear of rejection and abandonment was simply too significant. He delighted in sipping that fear, and sick though it was, he delighted in feeding it too.

There was a part of his heart which broke for her, however. Pennywise was a creature often devoid of empathy or understanding, but he could feel things for Angel he could feel for no other being in the Macroverse, and he could feel when she was unhappy. He knew how low and lonely and miserable she could get, knew her propensity to self-hatred should times get tough enough, and that plucked at the only remotely human chord that existed within him. He had seen and remembered all her painful memories as though they were his own; times she’d been left behind by loved ones, times she had been spurned and rebuffed, ignored and never given the time of day for such stupid reasons like her weight and appearance, times she’d been betrayed by those she thought she could trust in her most desperate time of need. It hurt him just as it hurt her, and he wanted no more of that. He simply wouldn’t have it. She needed to know that she was above all of those things, needed to know just how special she was. He would spend eternity trying to give that to her, trying with everything he had to make her realize that she was worthy of his love in a way that no one else was, because she deserved it. He would shower her in praise and admiration, he would lavish her in the greatest, filthiest pleasures he could offer her, _because she deserved it._ He would fuck her as fast and hard or as slow and gentle as she liked; he would look her in the eyes, play the part of her dashing guardian angel and make love to her or he would bend her over and fuck her like a bitch in heat until she screamed and cried. It was all up to her, and he would happily indulge all of it just to make her happy. 

With every growl he’s sending delightful shivers down her spine to mingle with the bubbling pleasure in her gut. He thrusts his cock up to meet her cunt, keeping her fuck-fogged gaze in a vice as he matches her quickening pace. He has one hand around her hip, the other snaking into the place between them where they’re joined to rub at her clit, driving her wild so she continues to bounce on him with reckless abandon. They’re starting to get lost in each other; it’s hard to tell now where one ends and the other begins. Their respective noises overlap one another, a symphony of moans and snarls serenading, harmonizing in the silence of the cistern, echoing up into the drain above where the world of Derry listens in on them. The sound of their bodies coming together now is so lewd and obscene that Angel’s face is burning red, she’s so taken with lust that she buries her face in the ruffles at his neck and huffs out a desperate, mewling cry. The dynamic has shifted; she’s no longer in control, she’s merely surrendered the reins to Pennywise who is guiding her with bucking thrusts, his hand still on her hip as he works toward his own pleasure as well as hers. The heat of her body draws him in, the simpering, wailing sobs of pleasure drive him wild and he pulls her head back from his neck to take her lips again with another kiss. This one is brutal and uncompromising. He kisses her furiously and endlessly as she rides his cock, taking delight in the taste of her delicate, needy noises on his tongue as they both careen towards absolute ecstasy.

He is the first to cum, burning ropes of his seed filling her creamy pussy as she teeters over the edge of sublime completion. She’s sobbing his name in gorgeous aria, her needy, whining voice only intensifying his orgasm, and he gets more beastly, more guttural in his grunts and growls until the apex of it finally hits him for real. The sewer’s intricate corridors are haunted by his orchestral and discordant roars of pleasure and it makes a great big shiver ripple through Angel’s body. And when he’s done his pace doesn’t falter. His stamina is impressive and near-infinite; he could go at this for hours, but he knows his lover’s endurance is not nearly as robust. Her resilience is still low as of yet; she _was_ new at this, after all, and this was her first time. She would likely be spent after just one orgasm. He could tell just by looking at her, observing her flushed face and ragged, uneven breathing. His eyes trail over the rest of her naked body now, focusing lewdly on the way her beautiful, heavy breasts bounce and judder with each thrust. That would have to change, he would have to work on it. No mate of his would boast such criminally frail durability; she needed to be able to take a long, brutal fucking if she was ever going to carry his children. And she would, there was no question in that. She was, after all, his mate, and it was her very purpose to take his seed. When the time came and they were both ready he would fuck her for hours and hours until his eggs finally stuck inside of her, and she would enjoy every last second of it, she would even beg for more when it was all over. And he might just give it to her, if she pleaded sweetly enough for his cock, for there was nothing he enjoyed more than making her happy. But that was a long way off as of now. 

He notices her breathing start to become more frantic and disjointed, starts to hear her whining become more simpering and insistent; she squirms in his lap as she bounces on him, almost as though she was trying in vain to hit just the right spot, find the right place to do in her in once and for all. He grins, leaning forward, still thrusting up into her. He peppers wet kisses up the side of her neck, enjoying the way she shivers at the feeling of cold drool against her hot skin, finally stopping at her ear to whisper there. He rasps into her ear, encouraging her to take the final plunge for him, all the while doing everything within his power to overload her senses. He still rubs at her clit, but his other hand has wandered up her abdomen to play with her breasts again. He cups one with a massive gloved hand, pulling and twisting at her hardened nipple.

“You’re almost there, Angel, I can feel it…” He whispers. His voice is low and infernal, perfectly dominant. “...Yes… _Yes…_ Good… Cum for me, my love… Cum for Pennywise…”

She mewls at the attention, nodding at him as she tries her best to follow his instructions, but she’s not quite there yet. She’s so close; the overwhelming attack on her senses only does her in further and she tries to just let all of it consume her in the moment. The feeling of him, the friction of his suit against her naked body, the sight of him boring down into her with a loving, encouraging gaze, the indecent, naughty, wet sound of their bodies slapping together and the scent of their musk, the perfume of mutual desire permeating the air around them, all of it works together to make her float. She whimpers and cries, still singing his name, sweat rolling down her face, all of it slowly becoming too much and she can feel it coming closer with every second. She’s ascending to the top of a steep cliff, and it’s only a matter of time before she’s pitched over the edge. The pleasant pain of him pulling at her nipples, the delicious sensation of her clit being rubbed with a silken finger and the aching fullness of his cock stuffing her tiny hole pushes her up that hill until she can feel it coming. She can’t stop it, all she can do is bounce helplessly on his cock until it consumes her. And when it does…

“P-Penny, I-- P-P- _PENNY!!”_

She squeals, seizing up on his cock. The pleasure is blinding, a searing fire in her loins as she cries out and convulses in his arms. Her cunt clamps down on him, squeezing him dry as her orgasm overtakes her entirely. It’s a whole-body tremor she gives into, weakly submitting when Pennywise pulls her into the massive breadth of his chest, even as it knocks the wind out of her lungs and makes her wheeze desperately for air. She couldn’t care less though; all she sees in this moment is eternity, in the way they breathe in tandem, the way their bodies feel pressed together. When the moment finally passes, when the orgasmic bliss subsides from her body she’s left spent, and they lay together in each other's arms, in each other’s laps. Angel feels so small and protected within his grasp that the warmth never settles in her core, and she moves in closer, chasing that warmth, chasing the feeling of him, so infinite and indomitable and… Despite all appearances, despite all she knew about him now, soothing. To her, he was her knight in silken clownsuit, her precious guardian angel, keeping her safe from the terrifying world she lived in, sheltered from everything that could ever possibly bring her harm. She… Loved him. It didn’t matter what he was to everyone else, all that mattered to her was what he was to her, and to her he was safe. She felt safe with him, a luxury not afforded to anyone else on this earth, and for that she felt truly lucky. She’s gasping, out of breath still from all her spent energy, and when she tries to speak he shushes her, pressing a finger to her lips. She can taste her own arousal on his glove.

“Pe-Pennywise, I--”

“Shhhh… Shhh, my darling… Breathe…”

He takes the time to reposition them both, laying them down on the floor of the wagon. Angel is surprised to find a soft surface beneath them like a mattress now, and with a sweep of his arms he cloaks them both in a plush comforter that seems to come from thin air. She immediately moves in closer to him, hugging him tight as she nuzzles into his chest. She holds him tight; she’s so completely spent that she can’t fully articulate her thoughts but still she struggles to speak. Her voice is small and sleepy, so angelic to his eldritch ears.

“...I l-love you, Pennywise.”

He’s purring now, breathing so contentedly, stroking her hair with a soft hand. He can hardly contain his excitement, his glee at her words. Oh, how he never tired of hearing her speak them, with those soft, supple lips and fragile, earnest voice. She truly was his now, in every sense of the word. After existing so long in the purgatory of unbearable sexual tension, they had finally consummated their love for the first time, the essences of their respective souls finally mingling with one another as they came together like one. He could smell, could taste it all as it radiated off of her, so many lovely mixed emotions. Her relief at having found him, at having not been rejected; her moonstruck joy in the throes of post-coital bliss, her orgasmic elation of having experienced her first time with someone she truly loved and her care and concern for him even now as she lies exhausted and spent within his arms. It was a sumptuous cocktail he would savor sip by sip, and he trusted that, with time, the cup would inevitably refill itself over and over again. Yes, indeed, Angel’s emotions were something he would never tire of tasting; he never tired of the savory salt of fear on the meat of the cattle beneath him, either, but she was a flavor that was altogether different, decidedly unique to the rest. She was just so deliciously sweet, it was a taste to his palate he hadn’t ever truly indulged in the eons he existed here, for he simply hadn’t the appetite for it for anyone outside of her. Pennywise was, by all accounts, a fairly simple creature, unencumbered by desire outside of the urge to eat and sleep. But when it came to her, when it came to Angel, there was that wonderful tertiary desire, one that brewed and stirred within his loins, one that made him mad with lust and burdened him with lascivious errand until all he could think about was finding her, fucking her, breeding her. As he holds her there he imagines her plump with his eggs, his children, feeling the round swell of her belly with his gloved hands as he kept her within his protective grasp and he chuffs into her hair possessively. He could never let anything happen to her. Nothing would ever _dare_ threaten her, especially not when she was carrying something so precious as his spawn. She was his, she belonged to him, and nothing would ever come between them. He would look after her forever and always.

“...Silly, silly, pretty little Angel…” He says, amid more snuffling inhales into the tresses atop her head. “I love you too, my perfect, hazel-eyed little trifle…”

He can feel her squeeze him tighter. He took this as a tacit acceptance of his compliment and it makes him unspeakably happy, because he’d known just how hard it was to get her to accept simple praise back when he had first introduced himself let alone such rich flattery as this. He can see her cheeks are burning from the glowing words and he regards her with concern when she buries her face into the silk at his chest and starts to sniffle quietly. He coaxes her face out with a gentle hand, using the cooling silk of his glove to drain the furious color from her cheeks.

“Are you okay, sweetness?” He asks softly.

Her lip trembles as she regards him with hazy silence, and the ghost of a smile starts to paint itself there on her lips before a wistful frown washes it away.

“Y...Yeah. I am. I’m just… I’ve never felt this way before. W-With someone else, I mean. Everyone else… They just…” She pauses, letting a tear slip down her cheek. “...Ignore me.”

She finds herself reassured by the look in his eye, and a wave of lovesick adulation crests over her shivering form when he brushes the tear away with his thumb. 

“Oh, _sweetness…_ You should take their indifference as a compliment… For, after all… How could they look upon that which doesn’t belong to them, that which they could never, _ever_ hope to deserve...?”

Her eyes are glistening with tears again as she clings to him, hugs him tight, as tight as she possibly can. The warmth of the covers around them is starting to lull her into silent tranquility. Her fingers tremble; she breathes shallow, shaky breaths through her chest and quietly savors every last one of his words.

“Your light is blinding, _maddening,_ just like mine... They cannot hope to look into it without losing themselves to your resplendence...”

“Why are you... S-So... So _nice_ to me?” She asks, puzzled in the most heartbreaking way.

He gives her a sad look. “Because you deserve it. You _deserve_ kindness, Angel. You deserve everything. You deserve the world...” He cups her cheek and smiles. “And I’m going to give it to you. I promise.”

He leans down to kiss and suck at her neck, peppering her with the softest, sweetest attentions he can muster and she only moans sleepily, giving herself to it completely. Seconds tick by down there in the cistern until minutes have passed; still, silent minutes that creep slowly into hours, taking them from dusk into the tranquil gloom of night. And all while Angel recovers from the bodily stress of their recent intimacy, drinking in the comfort of his embrace he hums, he chirrs, he warbles a familiar song to her, and while he sings her to sleep he thinks.

_Oranges and lemons_

_Say the bells of St. Clements_

_You owe me five farthings_

_Say the bells of St. Martins..._

He thinks about his cycle, about how long ago he’d woken up. It’s already been almost eleven months, in about a couple more he’ll have been awake for an entire year. Had this been any other phase, he’d probably be preparing by now to go back into slumber, to take his leave from the world once more and rest and sleep and dream for twenty-seven long years. But this was different. He thinks about how long it took to truly win her, that every day was spent in calculation and careful musing, that he took every step possible to ensure that he endeared himself to her eternally. He thinks that there was not a second, not a drop of effort wasted, that all of it had surely built towards his great and inevitable conquest in the end, that the spoils were oh-so-delightful for him to savor now. And now that the long-winded war had been won, he couldn’t bear to give up those spoils so easily. No, he wanted to taste them thoroughly, let it all melt on his tongue in a decadent fugue of luscious flavors; he wanted to bask in the sensation of her in every conceivable way. Now that he had taken her for the first time, he wanted more of her. He wanted to help her explore her burgeoning sexuality, so repressed from a lack of anyone to share it with; he wanted to satisfy his own primal urges in turn, ones that had been stewing and simmering inside of him unresolved for eons. He didn’t want to go back to sleep, not now. And he wouldn’t. Pennywise was not a creature strictly dictated by the clockwork of a stringent hibernation; his sleep cycles varied, as did his time awake, and _he_ would ultimately decide when he returned to the bowels of the land to take his long rest. For now, for the time to come, he would continue being with her, talking to her, praising her, playing with her. He would continue to be her lover and keep her counsel, he would be her perfect guardian angel. And all the while he would prepare her for what was to come, all of it; her destiny to be bred, to sleep with him through the seasons, to spend eternity with him and keep him company forever as he fed on the fear of this shitty little town. He would endear himself even further, and make it so that she would want nothing else than to submit to her fated purpose. And as he looks down at her sleeping face, her nose nuzzled into the silk at his chest, breathing deeply and hugging him tight like a teddy bear from childhood, he smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! With this, it would seem we've finally come to the beginning of the third act. And with the third act, a milestone I wasn't even sure I'd ever even reach, I must make an announcement. In an effort to get caught up and get some more chapters comfortably under my belt, I have decided I will be taking a short hiatus from posting. Now, don't worry- I fully intend on making a return, and mark my words, I will most definitely be finishing this story. I know that kind of platitude doesn't mean much from a measly little fanfic writer who could just as easily disappear off the face of the earth with no warning, but I assure you that will not be the case. I still love Pennywise with all my heart, and I can't possibly think of spurning him as well as all my lovely little readers. I appreciate everyone that's stuck with me this far, whether you've left comments or not it means a lot to me that you've read something that's so close to my heart, and I hope that I will not disappoint in the coming chapters. It's important to me that I take the time to get ahead of the game, because otherwise the pressure of having to come up with something new one chapter at a time will get to me and I likely won't finish as a result. You all deserve better than that, I think! I hope you're all excited to see what will happen next now that we've gotten to, ahem, the good part of the story (what I feel everyone must have been waiting for), and I hope you'll all stay tuned! It should be maybe a month or two before I'm back on the scene, but once I am, rest assured that I will see this through to the end. Promise promise ❤️️


	26. The Morning After

When she wakes up the next morning, she feels tranquil and refreshed and perfectly rested. The second she stirs awake, the second her eyes open and flicker about the room in a lazy assessment of her surroundings, she finds a rather curious sight. She’s no longer down in the cistern, she can no longer detect the stench of the sewers; she’s no longer cold and shivering like she was the night previous, even under the cloaking warmth of the comforter he had placed over them. No, she’s found herself back in the familiar setting of her bedroom, and she can register all the usual sights; the banner of her school mascot covering a majority of the far side wall of her bedroom, all the quirky little baubles and pictures and art adorning her walls; the clowns in her closet, staring back at her innocently from the shadow of the shelf within. It’s a comforting sight, one that sets her mind and heart at ease, and then she hears the purring. The chirring, the chittering of the mass beside her, and when she shifts onto her side, she can see him in full, turned towards her, watching her, peeking at her from underneath the blanket that covers them both. He appeared to be waiting for her to wake up. He smiles down at her.

“Good morning, my love.” He says. Angel immediately starts to feel that warmth, that tingle in her belly.

“Pennywise…” She mumbles sleepily with a yawn and a stretch. She regards him almost quizzically in her sleep-addled haze, nuzzling into his chest. “...You stayed with me.”

“Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?” He says innocently.

“You never have before.” She remarks, scooting up just enough that she’s more level with him. “I mean, usually when I wake up, you’re always gone. Not that I… Not that I fault you for it or anything- I know you’ve got things to do.” She’s interrupted now by a sensual gesture; Pennywise licks a trail up the side of her neck with a tantalizingly sinuous tongue and plants a kiss on her cheek.

“That was before.” He kisses her again, peppers her with slow, wet kisses and whispers in her ear, his voice low and sultry. “...This is now.”

She shudders with delight and giggles when he starts to suck at her collarbone. The sensation of it is just so wonderfully intimate. It makes her feel like a teenager again, caught in the throes of passionate, teenage love. It paints a picture in her mind; steam, heat, and rhythm in the backseat of a car as they drink in the feeling of one another, drunk sincerity, eternal promises they just couldn’t see yet because they were too inexperienced, too naive. Or she was, anyway. It made her feel young and stupid and, most of all, in love. He’s leaving marks on her, little hickies where there was once flawless, untouched olive skin, and he’s drawing perfect little mewls from her mouth as he nibbles expertly at the sensitive flesh. And with every second he’s trailing downward just a little more; his mouth eventually finds her chest and he begins with soft, wonderful little kisses until he finds her nipples, and then he starts to suckle greedily at them. He rubs his hands up and down her body as he does so, and the friction of his gloves coupled with the breeze on her naked flesh as he pulls back the blanket to bare even more of her body to his lustful gaze flushes her startled face. 

“Pennywise, _please!”_ She exclaims, her face burning red.

“What’s with the sudden reservation my dear? He asks, looking up at her with a lascivious grin. “You were _begging_ for this last night.”

Her face burns even more, flaring up scarlet as she fumbles for words. “I… I _know,_ I just-” 

“ _Shhhh…_ Let Pennywise make you feel good.”

His mouth becomes more gentle, his touches become more delicate; he treats her like the finest china, like a precious porcelain doll as he favors her with the softest, sweetest little attentions. He plants one kiss, and then another, and the wet sensation of cold drool against her hot skin is heavenly. Her only inclination in this moment is to moan, to savor it, so caught up in every feeling that she’s at a total loss for words. The sight of him lavishing her in such intimate love and affection, the sound of his lips sucking at her supple skin plucks at a deliciously wanton chord inside of her, and Angel feels the beginnings of reborn lust starting to course through her again. It starts in her belly and works its way through her loins, and then before she knows it she’s growing wet, wetter still as he makes his way downward, stopping to tease and tantalize all along the way with devious looks from a devilish golden eye. She’s already more than prepared for him, as her arousal from the night previous hasn’t entirely subsided even now, but now she’s pleasantly prepared in mind as well as body despite her own meek and abashed objections. She wants it, she knows she wants it, but she knows where he’s going, and though she might have been ready for last night beyond the shadow of a doubt, she wasn’t entirely sure if she was ready for this just yet. It wasn’t a fear, it was simply an insecurity, and though it gave her pause, she knew she could trust him in the end to make things right, make this a good experience for her, whatever he planned to do.

He squeezes the rolls on her belly with a gleeful enthusiasm as he continues rubbing up and down her body, exploring her with curious but still somehow experienced hands. She squeaks and giggles, fidgets and squirms under all the attention, tries not to upset his rhythm too much as he works his magic. He seems in tune to all her diffidence but it merely amuses him, he smiles and shushes her with each little nibble and stroke and continues his way down, doing his best to bolster her with each little ministration. He caresses her love handles with considerate hands, taking it upon himself to reassure her of his desire and make her feel wanted, to make her feel like the most priceless work of art in the world. And it’s working; as Angel lays there, deliciously captive to his loving gestures and attentions, she’s starting to feel more and more like she’s worthy, like she’s deserving of such gentle care and consideration. She feels like her own name; like a nymph, a goddess, entitled to praise and worship. All her insecurities melt away ever so slightly with every kiss; feeling intimate with him is a balm to every single one of her problems, and here in bed with him she’s free. Free to be everything she’s ever wanted to be, free to be herself, because here with him she doesn’t feel judgment, only love. He loved her, and she loved him.

And then he finally makes his way to his natural destination, down there between her legs. Angel watches him settle there in the slightly parted curve of her thighs and her face burns as she locks eyes with him from behind her hands. He stares up at her, huffing hot breath onto her cunt, idly stroking the sensitive skin there with one finger. Her hands shake as she hides behind them now, she’s trembling as she contemplates his next logical step, what he must be intent on doing and she doesn’t think she could possibly get any redder. He takes a deep breath, snuffling hungrily at the mound between her legs. He wears a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Don’t try to hide from me…” He says with a sly smile. “I know you want this, naughty little girl. Pennywise can tell, can tell that you’re wet for him…” She gasps, breathless as her eyes widen from behind her hands. She’s at an utter loss for words.

“Now…” He purrs. “Lower those pretty hands… And spread your legs. I want you to look at me.”

She smells deliciously earthy, and he can hardly restrain himself from just going for it, from just taking her in his mouth and pleasuring her until she can do nothing except sob in ecstasy. It’s exactly what he intends to do, but he must take his time with this particular task, for he knew suitably warming her up was instrumental to his lascivious ends. Needed to be patient, needed to be careful with her. She was inexperienced, and so was he to be frank, but his advantage was that he had spent an incalculable amount of time simply studying the copulation techniques of his human victims. Some were good at such things, most were less so, but even still he had plenty of time to build up his “skills” as it were. Skills he couldn’t test out for the longest time, albeit, but skills nonetheless that he could put to practice once the time was finally upon him to do so. Pennywise didn’t think anything of his virginal status through the years; he was loyal to his mate, and he would not test the waters with anyone else no matter how eager he grew to do so, no matter how excruciating the waiting was, no matter the stress on his primal needs. She was only his, and he was only hers. It simply made the spoils of intimacy that much more delicious to savor, for now that the time was upon him to take his lover in his arms and give her the greatest pleasures that he could possibly offer, he could finally satisfy his deepest desires and wildest inclinations. He would fuck her in so many ways and make her so senseless with satisfaction that she could never think of leaving his side. He would ruin her for anyone and everything else, and they would both enjoy every second of it.

She gulps, letting a fresh wave of lust crest over her as she shakily obeys him. Why couldn’t she speak up? Why couldn’t she defy him? She knew that it was safe for her to do so; she was intent on the belief in her mind that Pennywise would never actually hurt her, so why was she such a wilting flower now, when she could readily put a stop to all of this? Angel had always been a rather forceful girl in terms of her wants and desires; though she was a meek girl at her core, she wasn’t afraid to communicate her thoughts to those she trusted. She could tell Pennywise to stop right this very instant, and she was sure he would honor her request; that was simply the dynamic of their relationship. Though Pennywise held all the cards, she was free to halt anything should she be uncomfortable with the situation, and he would step away with all respect and deference for her. It was the reason they hadn’t kissed or been intimate for so long, not because she didn’t want to do those things, but because she wasn’t ready, and he was nothing short of gentlemanly in regards to what she wasn’t ready for. There seemed to be an unspoken communication between them, a resonation of their souls that defied all rational logic, and he could seem to tell what it was that she wanted and didn’t want when it really came down to it. And in the end, it seemed this _was_ something she wanted, though she hadn’t the gall to admit it. Why else would she be stirring with such silent excitement? Why would she be so eager to allow him to carry out his intentions with such little resistance? She wasn’t intimidated by him, not anymore. They were far past that juncture, and now that she had come to realize his true presence within the town and accept it, there truly was no limit as to what they could do together. All it would take is time.

He looks up at her with a winning smile, and as she submits to his will that smile only widens. It keeps widening as he throws his head back with almost a yawn, a big gaping sigh that exposes the cavernous reaches of his mouth. It stretches open wide, and with every passing second there are more teeth for her to discover with saucer eyes. He reveals an impressive maw of razor-sharp teeth, and from the deepest reaches of his open face comes a long, sinuous tongue. She hardly breathes, she’s holding her breath in a vice as she watches it roll over his lips and start to slink in the air of its own volition like a coiling snake. And before he bends down… Something searing, almost blinding peeks out of the trench-like tunnels of his mouth and she finds herself dizzy, with drunk desire or shrieking madness she had no idea at this point. His tongue brushes up against the folds of her cunt and she shudders, her nipples hardening in excitement, and she promptly forgets what it is she saw, snapping back into attention now. He looks almost just like he did down there in the archives, when she’d made the first revelation of who he truly was, but now what was once roiling disgust just bubbles into some kind of bizarre pleasure, a feeling she can’t quite put a name to as she lays vulnerable before him. It all seems like an idealistic daydream of some kind, she can hardly believe she’s here with him, the object of such strong feelings, that they’re being intimate, that they’re currently engaged in such naughty, lascivious pursuits together. It’s hard to wrap her brain around; she never thought she could be nothing but on the outside of such things; she thought for the longest time that she was damned to spend her life inexperienced to it all, simply not good enough for someone to offer these delicious spoils to her willingly. But it all suddenly becomes real when she can feel the silk of his gloves against bare skin. He cups both hands underneath her ass and spreads her open wider, and then she can feel it, a purest heaven-sent feeling that has her speechless.

She’s caught off guard by the sensation of it. He starts slowly, with the tiniest flickering strokes of the tongue to tease her, and then he starts to explore her more. She’s crying out helplessly in pleasure, making fragile, delicate sounds as he moves in closer, as his hands squeeze and caress the sensitive flesh of her ass. His tongue is warm, hot even, and it melts easily into the sticky slick of her arousal as he pulls her open and examines the most intimate parts of her body with his mouth. He’s licking long, slow, deliberate strokes up her cunt and he takes the time to close his eyes and savor the taste of her juices. Oh, what heaven she was, dissolving on his tongue like spun sugar, the sweetest wine in existence to savor on his palate. How precious she was, making such sounds for him, encouraging him in his task, communicating her ecstasy via such wonderful little mewling noises. He growls as he dips down, consumed in his goal now, this particular delicious end, and he doesn’t let up even as she starts to squirm and writhe underneath him. His tongue explores her folds more and more with each stroke and now Angel is restless, desperate, _excited._ She arches her back and lets out a frustrated, pent-up huff. She watches him down there between her thighs, hungrily lapping at her cunt and with each passing second she’s getting redder in the face; that self-conscious embarrassment creeping up into the forefront of her mind again. She knows how loud she’s being, how her face is contorting from his ministrations and she simply can’t take it anymore. She needs to. Her hands wander up from the sides of her hips to her face again, hiding, sheltering herself from imagined judgment but then she hears his voice, firm and unyielding. He doesn’t even look at her.

“Ah ah ah, little girl, what did Pennywise tell you? Hands down. _Now._ ”

She’s shaking, not just out of excitement but out of mortification from having been caught. She obeys him once more, her hands sliding back into clenched fists at her sides as she lets him continue. The humiliation is enough to command her obeisance; she’s far too submissive to protest or resist him now. She doesn’t want to anyway, it all feels too good. It feels like nothing she’s ever felt before. It’s a purely new sensation, and one she quickly finds herself growing addicted to. Having been chastised plucks at a shamefully wanton chord inside her as well; she doesn’t necessarily mind it, doesn’t resent him for it, and perhaps the worst part was, she wanted _more_ of it. She’s almost tempted to spurn his instruction once more for the attention but she restrains herself, letting herself get wrapped up in the unbearable pleasure instead, the carnal elation of it all. She’s starting to pant now as he works up a steady rhythm, breathing heavy, labored breaths when he lathers up her cunt with his tongue and takes it to her neglected clit. His face is buried down there now but he’s still managing to look up at her, gauging her reactions to her teasing, using it to glean information about her level of pleasure and take her to new orgasmic heights. He tongue-fucks her now, feeling, probing, penetrating her tiny hole, slipping it inside and tasting the walls of her cunt. He’s working her up; she’s throwing her head back into her pillows and crying out in ecstasy, and the tactual sensation of the slimy appendage rolling over her pussy is indescribable. Her orgasm is coming like a burgeoning storm and she cannot ignore it, she can simply wait for it to come as she enjoys the rustling of wind-blown trees, the dusty perfume of petrichor and the looming clouds overhead. Pennywise seems fully aware of how close she is and he only uses that to his full advantage; he clamps his mouth down on her cunt, not letting her rest for even a moment, enjoying the way she bucks her hips into him and thrashes about like a wild bull. He licks, he laps, he slurps down her plentiful arousal; she’s getting close, she’s almost there, she’s about to cum… And then he stops.

She gasps as he pulls away. She’s winded, out of breath, and she’s visibly disappointed as he settles back on the bed. He regards her with an impish look, clearly enjoying her dismay and frustration as he licks his lips. And then when she speaks, her voice is small and pitiable.

“Pennywise…!” She rasps out, trying to catch her breath. “I was going to… I was g-gonna…”

“I’m sorry my dear, my tongue was getting a tad tired.” He says apologetically, but he’s still smiling. ‘You sounded like you were enjoying it, though. You’re quite the loud little thing, aren’t you?”

She squeaks and his smile widens, clearly delighted at having gotten such a reaction out of her. Looking down at her bare body, she grows suddenly self-conscious and covers her breasts by crossing her arms over her chest. She makes to get off the bed to get dressed, the bed creaking underneath her as she slips from the sheets but Pennywise pulls her back.

“Who said we were done, pet?” He breathes into her ear.

“Penny—”

He tugs her by the wrist and she falls gracelessly back onto the bed. He climbs over her with a hungry look in his eye, and then he leans down without a word and kisses her. His mouth is still slick with her juices and she can taste her excitement on his tongue; it’s a tart taste, and one not entirely unpleasant. Helpless, she moans into it, and when he pulls back she looks at him bashfully.

“I’ve got things to do.”

He leans in with an impish grin. “…Like me?”

She starts to giggle and his chest swells with pride. The sound of her joy is enough to possess him with delight of his own and he returns the laughter, guffawing into the empty silence of the room. She’s still shy, still recovering from the pleasure that almost was, that he had almost gifted her with but tugged away from her grasp at the last possible second.

“No, I...” She says, clearing her throat. “I j-just…”

She looks up at him and her eyes fall on his head wound. She studies it for a long moment, letting palpable dismay wash over her features. She reaches up and strokes the side of his head, her hand grazing over the point of entry gently, taking care not to hurt him in her examination as she looks him over. His eye has healed a little; it’s no longer red and inflamed, it’s rather dull and pink looking as a matter of fact, but it’s still gouged and there remains a hole in his head where the rod had penetrated his skull. She frowns sadly at him.

“…You should let me finish dressing your eye, at least. You… D-Didn’t let me finish last night, and I don’t want it to get infected.”

He smiles down at her, appearing to consider her words for a time. His remaining eye glints with something considerate and thoughtful, mulling over her request, and then he pulls back so she can sit up.

“…Mmm, okay, my sweet. If you’re so eager to play nurse for poor ol’ Pennywise… I won’t say no.”

She smiles at him, blushing, and gets off the bed, but not before pecking his cheek with a quick kiss.

“Thanks, Penny.”

Her feet pad onto the cold hardwood and she bares her body for him as she fishes through her wardrobe for a clean pair of panties. Pennywise appreciates the soft nudity of her form, his eye lingering appreciatively at her backside as she stands on tip-toes and rifles through her underwear drawer, finally coming back with a pair of baby pink panties that she quickly pulls up over her shapely legs. She rummages through her t-shirts next in an effort to find something to cover her chest, and ends up slipping on a faded Dead Kennedys shirt. “Kill the Poor,” it says satirically. Once she feels a little less exposed she turns back toward her bedroom door to find her purse dangling from the doorknob. She grabs it and climbs back onto her bed, practically into his lap once more, searching for the supplies from last night. She brings out the washcloth again, wetting it with the bottle of water and lathering it up with the soap she’d packed. She takes it in a gentle hand and applies it to his wound, softly brushing it against the raw meat of his lesion and clearing it of any and all potential bacteria. She fingers through his fiery hair lovingly as she does so, humming “Oranges and Lemons” absentmindedly while her eyes linger at his injury with concern befitting a dutiful little housewife.

Then, with the damage addressed and tended to, she sets to bandaging up his head, wrapping the gauze around and making sure it covers all points of entry. Pennywise trills with content and satisfaction at such doting behavior; it thrills him beyond all reason that she chose this, chose to treat his wounds rather than insist on her own pleasure like any other selfish human might be want to do. She could have whined and begged for him to give her what she so desperately craved, what she was so close to having when he’d so inconveniently decided to deny her of it. She could have thrown a fit and insisted on her own way, but her first and central preoccupation was making sure he was okay. She had all but forgotten about before, he could taste it on her. The lingering pleasure was still detectable and delectable on his palate, he knew she was still wet down there between her thighs and that some part of her was disappointed from a lack of resolution, but that had all but been replaced by her new train of thought. Now, the thing that mattered to her was making sure he healed, that his wound didn’t get infected. What a precious, thoughtful girl she was… Made for him, made to be with him, made to take care of him and keep him company. Made to fuss over him and adore him, to love him beyond all reason and do everything in her own puny, mortal power to keep him safe.

She was turning out to be every bit as delicious in her disposition as he had expected her to be; timid, docile, strong-willed but pliant, loyal to a fault and such a fragile, bleeding heart. Those were just a few of her features that made her an absolutely perfect match for him. There were… _Other_ features that made her a perfect match too, even if she didn’t yet have the confidence to admit to those features just yet. Pennywise had never seen such a work of human flesh before so sumptuous, so delightful to the eye and perfect in all its imperfections. He loved to look on her face and savor her sleepy, hazel eyes, the perpetual bags underneath that only made her look more tired and weary than she already was. He loved her full lips and her sunny smile, loved the way her button-nose would flare when she got upset and the way her face would get hot at every perceived slight or embarrassment. He loved her body. He loved her breasts, her wide hips, her little belly and her big thighs and the perfect curve of her legs. All of it. He finds himself getting lost in thought, ogling her while she tended to him, his eye following the curvature of her breasts through the t-shirt she wears as she strains on her knees to wrap his head with the gauze. She finally notices when the chirring in his chest stops.

“Hey, eyes up here.” She jokes bashfully. “I can’t concentrate with you staring at me like that.”

“Sorry, my dear.” He says. His voice is suddenly low and gurgling. There’s almost a hint of something inhuman, something monstrous. “You know how much I… _Adore_ your body.”

She gulps, looking up at him. She notices how his visible eye is glowing in the dim light of the room and it doesn’t scare her but it makes something delicious course through her veins. That familiar mad pang of lust is making its way all the way from her head into her toes, but she tries to just ignore it. She continues to dress his wounds, finally getting reabsorbed into the task at hand, not noticing that there is a shift in the room now as she’s close to putting the finishing touches on her handiwork. She doesn’t notice the way the room darkens, or the way her closet creaks shut, or the way the lock on her bedroom door clicks into place. She doesn’t even notice the murky, black tendrils slithering through the air around her body now, doesn’t notice until she lets her guard down completely and something strikingly cold grazes against her ass. She squeaks, dropping the gauze. He’s staring down into her, stroking her thigh with a feather-light hand.

“Mmm, Angel, tell me… Do I get a treat…” He coos. “For being a good patient?” Those tentacles are starting to come from all directions now; they’re starting to wind around her torso, wrapping tightly around the softness of her midsection and one dripping slimy black ichor pushes up her shirt to curl around her breast. She gasps. He’s wearing a dirty smirk on his face, and his voice is infernal and predatory. “Because I think I deserve one… Don’t you?” She whimpers helplessly, unable to answer as the wet tentacle around her breast starts to flick at her hardened nipple. Looking her over with a lecherous eye, he notes the desperation and neediness on her face. He offers her a choice, a mercy not afforded to any other soul on the face of this miserable planet, and he looks into her eyes as he does so. “…Say the word and this all stops, Angel.” A choked whine worms its way out of her throat, it mingles with the chorus of hums and chitters falling over her like a sweat-soaked fever dream. One little tentacle, devious and intent, has emerged and is slinking between her thighs to rub against the crotch of her panties. “Tell me what you want. Do you want me to stop?” His eye never leaves hers, he can see the beads of nervous sweat rolling down her face, can sense the hesitation in her consciousness, the reluctance to express her true desires. He speaks into her mind, a place she can never fully escape, and demands her acquiescence. He knows what she wants.

_Answer me._

“N-No…” She finally stutters out, her voice soft and weak. He grins.

“Thought so.”

Angel doesn’t register the force of his hand against her chest until she’s colliding with the mattress beneath her. He shoves her down onto the bed in a way that channels rough but not harsh or cruel, and her world spins drunkenly around her as she braces herself for what’s to come. She’s taken by surprise but fear does not spike through her veins; she simply plays along, lying supine on her back, letting the bliss of something primal course through her as he climbs over her with a devilish smirk. The sensation of sloppy wet tentacles winding around her arms is something that would likely be disgusting to anyone else, but it only further excites Angel, makes the thrill wash over her brain more vividly than anything else in the world. Those tentacles are stronger than they look; they pin her arms above her head easily and keep her upper half immobilized as he moves in closer towards her, as he closes the distance between them. Four more are snaking around her legs; two around her ankles, two around her knees. They slowly and tantalizingly pull her thighs open, rendering her vulnerable to his lecherous gaze as a fifth and smaller tentacle wraps itself around the crotch of her panties and pulls them to the side.

“I know you’ve thought about this…” He purrs, positioning himself between her legs. That tentacle from before is still curled around her breast, and its gently massaging and suckling at her nipple. She whimpers and squirms, but she doesn’t resist. “Such a dirty little mind you have, I can tell… And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

His cock brushes up against her slit and she cries out, wriggling in his hold. There’s no doubt in her mind; she wants this, wants it desperately. But she’s also still so shy, she’s not used to it, she’s not used to indulging such intimate thoughts with another living, breathing thing. She’s used to thinking about these things on her lonesome, with not another soul around to judge her for such imagined depravity. Before this, before any of this, it was just her with her thoughts and a handy little toy to help her along in her sinful proclivities. She never thought in a million years she’d be here with something that could spoil her in such inclinations, offer her a solution to problems too abstract for any mere human to solve. Angel had always been something of a wicked girl on the inside in this regard; her fondness for the macabre didn’t necessarily end with appreciating their aesthetics. She found the morbid attractive in a sense too, found it something stirring, new, exciting, something otherworldly and beautiful in its own way, not that she could ever admit to such things out loud. She found the strange and the bizarre to be alluring; she was always drawn to it as a child, even, finding charm and elegance in that which was often discarded as too grotesque to love, just like herself.

If she were truly honest with herself, Pennywise’s more… Monstrous qualities were not things she would resign herself to tolerating in time. She had convinced herself she was disgusted with it before, when the wound of discovering his true identity was still raw and new. But even then, there was a part of her, small albeit, that had been delighted at the revelation, found the memory of his appearance down in the archives to be thrilling in ways she dared not name. As she worked to cope with the discovery, she staved off not just guilt and culpability for her role in a handful of the disappearances, but she staved off shameful desire as well. She tried in vain to convince herself that there was nothing appealing about what she saw down there, nothing tempting or in any way captivating about the appalling show of brutality she’d been exposed to, but then the dreams at night would come, and she’d imagine him, that thing coming towards her with lascivious intent, and she’d wake up with her heart pounding and a rousing, exhilarating, conflicting feeling between her legs that she’d promptly try to forget as she slipped from the covers. It was wrong of her to feel such a way about something so callous and cruel. It was wrong of her to justify his actions in the name of something so shallow as physical attraction. Why then, did it feel so good to love him, to keep his company and stay by his side? Why did he always feel so warm in such a cold world? What made her want to forsake her morals, what made her want to be a terrible person just for him? Hard to say.

She’s getting redder by the second; she tries in vain to struggle against her bonds and pull her hands down to hide her face, but the tentacles have too firm a grip to allow her any slack, When that fails completely, she tries to simply hide her face in the crook of her shoulder, but he notices, he’s firm; one long, sinuous, dripping tentacle slides up the side of her cheek and coaxes her head out to look at him again. The look in his eye is loving but uncompromising.

“No… Look at me, dearest… I want to see your face while I fuck you… I want to see it twisting and contorting just for me… I want to see the pleasure in your eyes…”

He thrusts his hips so his cock rubs up against her clit, the slickness between her folds and she notices the sensation is different from last night. His cock is oozing slick black ichor but there’s bumps and ridges along his shaft, little suckers like that of a cephalopod underneath, and the way they feel rubbing against her is stimulating in such a way that she craves him inside her beyond all reason, despite the soreness between her legs from the night before, despite every little rational inkling in her mind telling her that this just wasn’t natural, that she should shy away from it and reject it. It’s a maddening, desperate feeling, and she struggles against the ties around her limbs, weakly arching her back so her cunt will grind up against him, tease him, egg him on. They engage in a back and forth for some time, rubbing against one another and aligning their hips so they’re flush against each other. Each sucker rolls over her clit and makes a wet popping noise when it comes away from her arousal; the sound of it is simply naughty, something deliciously wrong. She loves it.

“I want to hear you crying, _wailing_ my name…” He leans in close and huffs hot breath on her face as he speaks. “I want all of Derry to hear us.” He kisses her deeply, making sure she’s suitably occupied before he starts to rear his hips back, and then as he’s taking her lips he begins to push in softly, slowly. She squeaks into his mouth, unprepared for the sensation; she can feel him grinning. The tentacles, pulled taut, tighten ever so slightly around her body.

“Be… Be gentle with me.” She breathes underneath him as he pulls back from the kiss. “P…Please. I’m still sore from… From last night.”

He strokes her cheek. “Oh, my dear, _sweet_ thing… I would never, _ever_ hurt you.” He pulls out and eases in again with slow and careful thrusts, establishing a nice, steady rhythm as he leans over her. The stretch makes her wince ever so slightly but she takes it without complaint; despite her reservations she’s starting to rock her hips back to meet his cock and he growls at the sensation. He comes closer to her with each and every thrust until he’s leaning over her, hands on either side of her torso; looming over her, looking her in the eyes with a glowing, golden stare. He smiles a devilish smile.

“…Never. Not unless… You wanted me to.”

He takes perverse delight in the way she shudders with pleasure at such a remark. She only pushes her pelvis up with a simpering whine, taking his thrusts with a fragility that he can only describe as delicious. She does not resist, she does not fight back, she simply submits, and nothing in the world could bring him greater joy. He enjoys the sight of her beneath him, at his mercy, giving herself to him completely and utterly in such unconditional trust and conviction. It makes his chest swell with pride to know that she places such faith in him, relies on him not to hurt her despite everything she knows about who he is and what he’s done. It is an action done not out of fear, but out of confidence. Confidence that she’s safe with him. She belongs with him, after all, and how could he possibly harm that which was made for him, that which was made specifically to love him and keep him company? He continues his pushing thrusts until he’s all the way inside of her, until he’s worked himself in all the way to the hilt.

“Would you like that, Angel?” He breathes down at her, looking her in the eyes as he fucks her. “Would you like to be pushed to the absolute _brink,_ your muscles cramping, your bones _aching,_ not caring that it hurts because it all simply feels too good? Hmm?”

She doesn’t speak, she simply mewls sweetly. The sensation of his cock moving inside her is nothing short of extraordinary; the suckers on the base of his cock rub against her entrance with every thrust and the way they feel flush up against the walls of her cunt leaves her virtually speechless. The way she’s being treated has lit a fire underneath her, and she’s become nothing short of a malleable, submissive mess. She can’t even think of resisting it, resisting any of this, it all simply feels too good. Consumed by desire, having lost all ability to speak, she can only think to express herself via her actions, so she spreads her legs wider and struggles to fit in closer to him. She doesn’t care about how she still aches from last night, doesn’t care how she’s surely making a fool of herself in her lust-addled haze, she simply wants him, every part of him. He’s establishing a faster rhythm with each thrust and all she does is start to get louder; her whimpers and cries only starting to echo and mingle with all his grunts and snarls in the emptiness of the room.

“Oh Angel…” He coos. “So cute you are, do you know that? Submitting to me so easily… Simply a slave to your thoughts and your innermost desires because you just can’t help yourself…” She sobs a wonderfully agonized sob and he smiles, his hips keeping his steady rhythm. “Well, my little lamb, Pennywise is more than happy to indulge each and every one of those thoughts and desires…” He leans closer to lick up the side of her neck. He gently nips there, leaving perfect little love bites; he plants soft, wet kisses up her face and hums into her skin as he does so. “It would be… Mhm… His _pleasure_ … To see you so overcome with ecstasy that you can’t speak, just like now… He wants to see you begging for him, wants to see you tired and spent after he’s done fucking you deep and hard…” He rests his forehead against hers and closes his eyes. His pace doesn’t falter. “I want you, Angel…” He sighs. “More than anything, I want you…”

His tempo is growing faster, faster. With every thrust he’s picking up momentum, and the bondage is only making Angel more restless with wanton desire. She simply doesn’t know how to explain it; being restrained like this is appealing to a part of her she’s kept hidden away from the world, a part of her she frankly didn’t even know existed until right this very moment. She loves it, can’t possibly think to question it now, not when there was an end she needed to focus on achieving, the importance of which trumped everything else in this moment. Being able to indulge such a naughty fantasy in such a desperate time of carnal need is delicious enough, but she remembers just how soft and gentle he’d been to her last night, and the juxtaposition in his behavior now drives her wild. He’s so _dominant_ , he’s taking charge when last night had been a different flavor, an entirely different dynamic compared to now. She’s getting louder, moaning and crying out helplessly as she squirms restlessly against her restraints. Another sopping wet tentacle has wound itself around her other breast; both work her nipples now, pulling them, twisting them, almost milking them as the others hold her open and vulnerable, as his cock fills her completely and utterly. They fondle her entire body as she’s being fucked and all she can manage to really speak is his name; all other words are lost to her in this moment.

“Doesn’t it feel good, to be together like this? It all feels so _right,_ here with you…” He cups both hands underneath her ass now, giving him more leverage as he leans over her. “My lover, my _mate_ … The one who I’m supposed to be with, more than anyone or anything else in this world…” He growls with pleasure of his own and hits her with an especially deep thrust, his cock abruptly pushing against the deepest part of her. She cries out loudly and he grins down at her. “Mmm…How _loud_ you are, little thing… You’ll wake the neighbors with all those noises…” He appears to think for a moment, considering and mulling over the various options in his head, and then his face lights up with a devious smile. “Ohhhh, I know _just_ what to do…”

Another tentacle snakes its way out from behind his back and takes its time slithering up the side of Angel’s body towards her face. It’s a big tentacle, fat and wriggling and slick with inky slime; it drips off the tip and wets the mattress underneath her with its messy residue. And all while she’s sobbing and crying out with pleasure, as Pennywise continues with strong, powerful thrusts and pulls her apart just a little more, it comes closer to her. It slithers up the slope of her jaw and after another deep thrust leaves her caterwauling it takes the opportunity to stuff itself into her mouth and render her, for the most part, silent. She whimpers around the loose, slippery appendage; it hasn’t gone down her throat far enough to choke her, it’s simply silenced the brunt of her noises and reduced her to muffled moans and whines. He appears satisfied with his handiwork.

“Yes, that’s better…” He muses, looking down at her desperate, needy, contorting face. She stares back up at him helplessly and he smiles.

But as time goes on Angel is getting more fidgety, more buck wild underneath him. She’s trembling like a leaf, her entire body is hot to the touch and she’s _antsy,_ she’s working herself up to the point of exhaustion. She’s returning his thrusts as much as she has the energy to but she’s so pent up, she’s frantic for a remedy to her woes, sick with love and lust to the point of near lunacy. And Pennywise does not ignore this development, he’s more than well aware of her desperation and the fact that she’s pining for satisfaction; he knows that she’s more than ready for it now, having been frustratingly denied it no less than an hour before. He knows how excited she is, she’s shaking now like a bitch in heat. It delights him that she’s so easily tampered with, so easily swayed and controlled. After such an intimate encounter last night, she’s become such warm putty in his hands, and she cannot resist the pull of temptation for wanton enjoyments such as these. Powerless to struggle against the bonds of her own low self-esteem, he can only imagine how thrilling it is for her to engage in these pursuits with someone not only willing but eager, it makes her entrapment so much more bearable to stomach and he loves it, he knows it to be a balm for the raw skin of her wrists underneath the shackles. He relishes in the knowledge that he was able to so easily switch roles between loving guardian angel and devilish dominant in the span of one night, that she had accepted it so easily. She’d found his monstrous qualities attractive, sexy even, though she might not dare to admit so out loud just yet. He’d been cognizant of such desire for, after all, he’d smelled it, practically tasted it on her when she’d walked in on him down there in the archives. She couldn’t hide from him; he knew exactly who she was, because she was simply perfect for him. As he thinks of this he smiles gently down at her, a sharp contrast to his powerful thrusts, and he notices that she’s starting to get distinctly more wet and slippery down there between her legs.

“Precious little thing…” He coos. “So close yet so far… Do you want to cum? Do you want to cum for me?”

She visibly brightens at his words, and she struggles to speak around the tentacle. He appears not to acknowledge her garbled words, so instead she abandons such efforts, simply nods frantically and helplessly pushes up her hips.

“You need a little help from ol’ Pennywise? He can help scratch that little itch of yours, can help you scratch it easily…” That gentle smile becomes a wicked, knowing leer. “…But does he want to? Why don’t you persuade him?”

She attempts more muddled words through the obstruction in her mouth but it’s a fruitless endeavor. He miraculously notices this time and takes pity on her, pulling the tentacle out of her mouth. She gags on the bitter, salty taste of the ichor, and as she regards him sheepishly he looks down at her expectantly. He still thrusts into her.

“I w-want you to help… Help me cum…”

“What’s that, pet?” He asks, cupping his ear teasingly. “What did you say?”

“I want to cuh-cum…” She says, louder this time. Her face can’t possibly get any hotter, she’s so embarrassed. “H-Help me…”

“What’s the magic word, little thing?”

“P…Please…”

He leans in closer. “What was that?” He says, boring down into her. His hips don’t stutter even once as he continues his bucking thrusts. “Repeat yourself for Pennywise.”

“Puh- _Please!_ ” She cries out desperately. Sweat rolls down her brow. “I want to cum, Penny, _please!_ ”

“Good.” He drawls. “ _Goooooood_ girl, Angel.” A thin, wet, slimy tentacle emerges from his pants, over the top of his cock and snakes up against her poor, neglected clit. It starts to swirl teasingly, tantalizingly over her sensitive little bud and she huffs a pent-up huff like a bitch in heat. She bucks her hips up to meet him and his generous ministrations. The suckers on the base of the tentacle suction over her most delicate spot and pull away with a pop after each and every stroke; the sensation of being fucked along with the perfect stimulation on her clit is making her all the more desperate to cum, more frantic and helpless to seek release. She closes her eyes in an effort to immerse herself further, but she hears his voice interrupting her thoughts.

_No._

It’s a low voice in her mind. He cups her chin, and then he speaks aloud. “Open your eyes. Look at me. I want you to look me in the eye when we cum.”

She obeys him with a shudder, simply too lost in her lust to even think of spurning his command. He smiles at her obeisance, at her inevitable submission, the delicious flavor of her silent compliance and he simply keeps thrusting into her, giving her exactly what she wants, what she needs and craves more than anything else in the world right now. They come together so beautifully and naturally in this moment, like two puzzle pieces meant to fit with one another. Her warm tightness perfectly sheathes his monstrous length and he moans a low, groaning, gurgling moan as he continues his dogged pace. He never tires of the sensation of her, never tires of looking into her eyes, of watching her body shift and sway so hypnotizingly with his thrusts, her flawless breasts heaving and juddering with each forceful movement of his hips. He drinks in the sight of her, in everything that she is and was and ever will be; his lover, his mate, his destined partner. He relishes in giving her such joy, for he knew she deserved it. She deserved everything in the world handed to her on a silver platter, deserved to have everything she could ever want or need. He would spend all of eternity giving her those things. She would never tire of receiving his pleasure, she would seek it out and beg for it; it would become so addicting to her that she would pine for it with a sickness, would submit to him in every fashion just to secure her own contentment. She already was, she was already so compliant in truly every way he expected of her. She had been so receptive to his manipulations from the moment they began, and all because she was missing a piece inside of her, a void that only he could fill.

With every thrust she’s getting more desperate for release. Pennywise knows, he can tell just by the look of her that she’s reaching a breaking point. He sees it in her eyes, in the furrow of her brow, he can see it in the way her back arches, the way her hips come up to meet his. Anxious sweat drips down her face and she simmers with simpering whines and mewls; she seems to be begging him with the look on her face, wordlessly communicating to him that she needed that push over the edge, needed it badly. All that comes out of her mouth now are noises, noises and his name, sobbed helplessly and hopelessly as she returns his thrusts. He finds it simply irresistible, her desperation and just how fixated she is on all of this; she’s become little more than an animal now, a creature with only a simple goal in mind. He can do little else but oblige in helping her achieve this goal, wanting nothing more than the sublime pleasure of helping his other half reach such total ecstasy. The slime from the tentacles is wetting the bed underneath them, mingling with the musky scent of sweat from their joined bodies and she couldn’t care less; all that mattered right now was attaining what she had been chasing all morning.

It comes closer with every thrust, coasting nearer and nearer with every brush of that tentacle against her clit, with every push of his cock filling her so perfectly, and then it falls over her in a wave. She freezes up as her orgasm overtakes her and Pennywise only continues his thrusts; the sensation alone is enough to make her wail and her tightness consequently clamps down on him in a vice. The feeling of her pulsing around his cock is enough to trigger him to follow suit; the tentacles seize up when it hits him and he rears back with a deafening roar that makes the room shudder. Sticky ropes of his cum fill her up and he leans forward to kiss her. He muffles her cries as she cums; he growls and snarls into her mouth but he doesn’t hurt her, he simply keeps fucking her through her climax, doesn’t allow her a single moment of rest even now. The tentacles begin to recede from around her body now, finally retreating into his back once more and leaving her tired and spent beneath him, finally free to rest her sore arms on either side of her body. Once he’s done cumming inside of her he falls on the bed beside her, and his arms pull her into the comforting security of his chest. He strokes down her hair soothingly, offering her such perfect aftercare in the form of smooth, lilting words and gentle, loving touches.

“Lovely little Angel…” He coos into her hair. “Did so well, oh yes she did… Pennywise is so proud…”

She’s out of breath, wheezing, panting as she speaks. “You didn’t do so… So bad yourself. How did you learn to… Get so _good_ at this? Am I… Am I the first you ever… You know…?” She blushes, not able to finish the sentence. Some part of her, deep down in the dredges of her mind dreads the answer. She hopes more than anything that she was his first but it seems too idealistic in the moment to possibly be true. Her heart sinks at the thought, the thought of him being with someone else, of… _Doing_ all this with someone else. His impressive prowess would certainly seem to indicate such a disappointing admission, and she steels herself for his reply. He smiles down at her and she finds herself reassured somehow. He brushes a messy lock of hair behind the sweat of her ear.

“Don’t be foolish…” He breathes. “Of _course_ you are… Angel, I’m promised to no one except you, and you to no one except me. How could I sully our betrothal by taking another into my bed, silly girl? No… It’s only you, my love, and how you were worth the wait…”

She flushes an even deeper red, her stomach blooming with something wonderful. In that moment she doesn’t feel small or inadequate, she didn’t feel low or like she wasn’t good enough. She didn’t feel like she felt with anyone else, didn’t feel how anyone else had ever made her feel. When she looks into his eyes she sees herself reflected in his stare, but she doesn’t look weak or feeble like she always imagined herself. She looks, she feels like her own name; like a nymph, a goddess, entitled to praise and worship, worthy of truly the best that the universe had to offer. And the universe was there, holding her in its infinite warmth, promising her all of that, all of that and more as they lay there together in the comforting space of her bedroom, there where no one could take one away from the other. She feels at peace, she feels like nothing in the world could touch her now, because she was protected by something that could never be challenged. That thing, this force of nature, it loved her, loved her more than anything, and it would never see any mortal harm come to her. She wonders, in the lingering threads of her exhaustion, just how long they were meant to be together. Pennywise had never truly answered such an inquiry, but he did seem to suggest they supposed to be in each other’s company for quite a long time. He… Lived in cycles, didn’t he? Was she supposed to live out her life while he slept? Was he supposed to come back to her twenty-seven long years later and take her back with him again? Or was it something else entirely that she was destined for, something she didn’t yet know how to grapple with? She really had no earthly idea, and she didn’t know whether or not she could handle the answer. Not right now, at least.

“…So…” She sighs, nuzzling into him again. “What now?”

He seems to think, contemplating her question and his own words as he adjusts himself on the bed. “Now…” He says thoughtfully. “Now, we rest. We rest, and you get up,” He says, playfully tweaking her nose with his thumb and index finger. “You attend to whatever you need to, and I’ll attend to my own matters.”

Her heart sinks ever so slightly as she considers the implications of what he says. Though she had decided to remain at his side regardless of who he was, it was… It was still hard. She was brought up with a certain moral compass her entire life, and having to defy it now for the sake of her lover was difficult. No matter how charming and gallant he was, no matter how patient and temperate and kind he was to her, he was still a monster, and she was now his accomplice. Refusing to hold him accountable for his actions surely made her a terrible human being, she knew that. She wasn’t stupid. Reasonably, the children were in the right, and they were a damn sight more ethical than she was at this point, but that didn’t matter to her now. What she cared about was him, and she cared about how he made her feel. But she was not without rationality, and that rational part of her was still frankly appalled at what she was choosing to forsake, and all for the cause of love. It was a small part of her, but it was still vocal, and she could still hear it even as she laid with him, made love with him, even as he lulled her to sleep in his gentle, cradling arms.

“You mean, you’re gonna…?”

“I _must,_ my pet. It’s been a great long while and I’m starved for flesh.” He can see that she’s avoiding his gaze, choosing instead to stare headlong into one of the poms at his chest, trembling ever so slightly, fighting everything in her mind that screamed at her to abandon him even now. He can taste the dissent in her mind, he knew that her rationality was fighting a losing battle, and it brings him such untainted, unmitigated joy to know that she’s ignoring everything she ever knew just for him. In no time at all she’ll be fully won, and he won’t have to worry at all anymore of her ever faltering from his side. He takes her chin in one hand and tilts it up so she can look at him.

“You understand… Don’t you, Angel? You know I have to eat…”

She swallows, fighting back the remaining opposition in her mind. She knows what she’s done, she’s known ever since she made the decision to go out looking for him, and she knows that now is too late to turn back. She made her choice. She chose him over her morals, and she has to learn to live with that. She nods sadly, acknowledging it all, acknowledging now what he asks of her. “I… I know. It’s just… A lot to swallow. Even now.”

“I know. I know, my love.” He says somberly, understandingly. “I urge you to take all the time you need. We have, after all, all the time in the world together.”

There it was again, vague promises of forever. She had no idea what it all meant, and she couldn’t ask of him an explanation. Not now. She would in time, when she was better prepared. She allows a faint smile to creep across her face.

“You’ll be back tomorrow, won’t you?” She asks hopefully.

“Of course, darling. How else are you going to take care of ol’ Pennywise, treat his wounds and make sure he’s on the mend?” He tweaks her nose again and she giggles at the attention, but then she quickly becomes serious again.

“I’ll never stop.” She promises. “Taking… Taking care of you, I mean. I don’t want anything to happen to you. Not after that, after what happened. That… Broke my heart.”

“I know it did.” He says solemnly. “That’s part of the reason I hid. I didn’t… Want you to see me like that, I knew it would only worry you more.”

“…I thought you were dead.” She says, her tone mournful. Her eyes fill with tears. “It was all I could think about for days. I… I thought I lost you forever.”

“I’m much stronger than that, little love.” He promises. “I’ve been on this planet for a very long time, nothing so… Insignificant, could hurt me so grievously so as to wipe me out entirely.” He brushes a tear away as it slips down her cheek. “It was truly a minor blight, nothing to worry about.”

She wipes the rest of the tears from her eyes. “Good. _Good._ ” She lays her head against his chest and heaves a big sigh.

“Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeelllo and welcome back everybody! It has been approximately two months, and in the time I've been gone I've whipped up a size-able amount of chapters with which to post for y'all. In an effort not to burn through all of them while I work on wrapping up this story, however, I've decided I will be moving to updating every other week in an attempt to give myself a little more time to work. I hope you all understand. We're coming up on the end of this whole shebang, and the chapters ahead are some good ones if you know what I mean (hehe), so I hope you'll all stay tuned, and I hope you all enjoy what's coming up. As always, thank you for reading! ❤️


	27. New Normal

With Pennywise’s return, everything seemed to finally go back to normal. Things had resumed as they were before, and Angel had found herself of the comforting assumption once more that everything would, indeed, be okay. Her problems were no longer the fate worse than death they had been before when he left, they had gone back to being the pesky nuisance they had gradually become under his comforting presence and counsel. She’d gone back to a rather carefree approach. She didn’t worry about her own security anymore in the way that she had during his absence, no longer worried that she would be the target of any hoodlums or thugs lurking in the shadows of Derry, a perpetual fear that almost never seemed to subside, even during her childhood. She felt safer again. Pepper and her little bell necklace and all his little gifted trinkets to her were charms to keep her protected from all that would do her harm, but they couldn’t hold a candle to him, his _real_ touch, his _real_ presence. All it took was a sweep of those arms, a beckoning gaze gifted from gentle golden eyes and she was shielded from it all. She no longer worried about his survival, because she could see him, she could _feel_ him, and that was all she needed to be assured. His head wound gradually healed with time, and over the course of one week he seemed to go back to normal completely as a result of her nursing, almost as a result of her belief that he would eventually be okay. Days seemed brighter once more, an enormous weight having been lifted off her shoulders now, and she could hold her head high as she proceeded with her week to week, day to day routine again. Things were quiet and tranquil, devoid of issue or bedlam, and Angel felt refreshed, felt like there was reason now more than ever before to celebrate being alive. Before Pennywise had come along, she’d seldom ever felt such a way before.

She continued her work at the library come the following Monday. Things were as normal as they’d ever been; Pennywise would wake her up with the soothing lilt of his voice, would gently direct her in her morning routine for the day, watch her in the shower, remark favorably on her naked body as she got dressed. He would tell her what pieces of her wardrobe he liked the most and give her outfit suggestions. He particularly liked her patched letterman jacket and her red pair of ripped fishnet tights, found such daring articles of clothing whimsical and charming. Once she set off for the library he would hold her hand on the way there as he always did, talk to her in her head, asking her questions and posing various different topics of conversation. She wouldn’t care how crazy she looked talking to herself out loud now, for, after all, it seemed no one ever really paid attention to her while she was out and about in town anyway. He would talk to her periodically throughout the day, comment on various happenings within the library. He would find himself amused at the shenanigans of the patrons, who were often fussy or far too loud for the space in which they occupied, and tell her as such. He guffawed quite boisterously the other day at a child who slipped and ate shit because he was too engrossed in the book that he was reading. Angel found it less amusing, because the stunt resulted in the book being irreparably damaged, but his good spirits coaxed her into a better mood after the fact.

He would often accompany her there in person now, occurrences that, quite frankly, had never happened before. Before, he had relegated himself to simply speaking in her mind during her shift, content to distract her with only his voice as she went about her business, but now he had invited himself into the physical space of the library, would sit beside her as she manned the front desk or follow behind her as she rearranged the shelves and catalogued returns. It was worth noting that his presence remained undetected to that of the Derry citizens; she could only surmise that this was another of his enigmatic abilities. It seemed to make sense, really. Though she didn’t know the details of his life as a predator preying on the town, she knew he had a knack for appearing out of nowhere at the most unpredictable of times, and deduced that he must surely use such a talent when picking out his victims and carrying out his kills. That he was fully capable of appearing only to whomever he sought to entertain. The only catch in his public manifestations was that, just like before, Angel couldn’t talk to him out loud without drawing the attention of others. She had to wait until there was no one else around to actively engage with him, like when she went down into the archives or took her breaks outside. Otherwise she risked looking like a complete and utter loon, and she didn’t want to further worsen her reputation in the eyes of the town any more than she already had. It was different on the way to work, when there was hardly a soul around to witness such bizarre behavior. Here she was simply in too close quarters with too many people. It was definitely hard to keep a straight face. Pennywise cracked wonderful jokes that she would have to stifle giggles and snorts at, and when he was feeling risqué he would make lewd comments that made her blush furiously, a physical response she couldn’t rightly control. He liked to tell her just how sexy she was, how it drove him wild just looking at her, and that he couldn’t wait until she got home from her shift because he intended on doing something about it.

“Oh ho ho, little lamb, just you wait until Pennywise gets his hands on you…”

And over the course of that week and the next, he had very well made good on those implied promises. Angel had started to look forward to every evening more so that she ever had before, because Pennywise had started to become more affectionate. _Much_ more affectionate. He would greet her with intimate hugs and peppered little kisses when she would walk in the door after her shift, and they would engage in all the activities of the months previous. Overall, nothing too different. She would cook or play her trumpet or they would dance to music in the living room (she had been growing more and more partial to The Cure as of late) but, just as there had been a shift in their relationship following their first kiss, there had been an even bigger shift after their first time having sex. Now that sex was on the table, it was as common a suggested activity as just about anything else they did together. Matter of fact, in the course of the last week alone they managed to have sex at least three times, and the next week they had gotten in two sessions so far. That was to say nothing of all the low-effort occurrences too, such as the night in which Angel sat in his lap and succumbed to half an hour of lazy fingering that eventually made her cum all over his fingers. Angel would often be in the middle of something before it would happen; she would very rarely be idle before such an encounter. No, she would be in the middle of making things in the kitchen, like packing her lunch for work the next day. She would be drawing at the dining room table or sorting through bills or writing one of her silly little stories, and then Pennywise would come up behind her, would start to interrupt her with affection and kisses. She would surrender to it readily, she would give in almost the moment in started, and after enough time spent warming her up he would start to reach under her clothes, begin to fondle her with dirty little touches, whisper little _things_ in her ear. It should be mentioned that Angel was always given ample opportunity to say no, given every chance to halt or stop things in their tracks. He would pause, give brief intermissions to all his various ministrations, almost as though to gauge how she felt about what he was doing, a silent question as to whether or not she wanted it. She really could have said no at any point. But she never did, never cared to. She would always steer headfirst into his manipulations and let him take the reins as it were.

To tell the honest truth, Angel could not be more pleased with this new development in their relationship. She’d been dreaming of such a thing for quite a long time, and getting to finally explore her sexuality with him after she had waited so long is the most wonderful thing in the world, an experience unlike anything else. Getting to be with him, getting to share such intimacy makes her feel closer to him than ever, and she can’t help but relish it. Pennywise was equally delighted that she’d been so taken with his advances, had found it simply delicious that she grew more dependent on him with every encounter, that she’d start to look forward to such lascivious pursuits. That she’d very quickly gone from shy to eager in a matter of weeks alone. He can sense that it’s quickly becoming something of a need for her; she’s becoming addicted to the pleasure he can offer, she wants it more than anything in the world right now because it was a distraction from all of her problems. When they came together as one nothing else mattered, she could easily block all of it out, compartmentalize it and forget it all, and for Angel that was something of a godsend. She’d grown up tortured by all of her issues both big and small, and very little could interfere with her anxiety and depression or otherwise ward it off. Her hobbies could only do so much to take her mind off of things, and sometimes pursuing them was a fool’s errand, as she could very easily lose passion or interest in them.

Pennywise had been different. From the moment he had introduced himself, it had been different. It had started off as one of her run-of-the-mill obsessions, a hyperfixation she expected would simply burn itself out within a mere month or two, but it had still felt different somehow. He made her feel so happy, so warm inside, when before all her various fascinations had brought her nothing but short-lived contentment, muted and never fully realized. When she watched him on the TV, when she found every single one of his gifts, she’d felt special, she’d felt like she was worthy of something better than she had ever been offered, something better than all the misfortune and misery she’d been subjected to for years. He had made her feel like she was deserving of something more, he treated her like she was something extraordinary, a rare creature to be loved and cherished. When she was with him she felt like the weight of the world was no longer on her shoulders, that she could face anything as long as he was by her side. And the awful truth of it was, she felt powerful being at the side of something so otherworldly and monstrous. She felt impervious to all those who would ever do her harm, because she knew the moment she was threatened, Pennywise would simply come to her aid and dispose of whomever had dared to do such a thing. He would shield her, he would protect her, and nothing could so much as say “boo” to her so long as he was around. As someone who had felt nothing but powerless her entire life, it was freeing and utterly liberating to be in the company of something so commanding.

The sex was even more a distraction, it was a physical sensation so sublime that she felt herself starting to become obsessed with it in a sense, felt herself floating whenever he took her in his arms and made love with her. She found herself completely and utterly hooked for, after all, she thought she’d never in her life be afforded the luxury of such carnal intimacy. She never thought for a second that anyone would want to do such things with her, let alone want to do them eagerly, so willingly that they would initiate such activities on a regular basis. It was new, it was exciting. Angel was finding it to be a much-needed boost to her confidence; for the first time in her life, she felt desirable. Every time he commented on her nude figure in the shower, every time he squeezed her body and praised her bare skin as they laid in bed together, every time he looked her in the eyes as they made love, it made her feel like she wasn’t an unassuming wallflower but, in fact, a rare rose that had bloomed just for his delight. It made her feel like she wasn’t invisible, that she didn’t repel people just as she had always assumed she had. And even if she did, what did it all matter now? The right thing knew she existed, the right thing would shower her in love and affection. They were meant to be together, they fit with one another like puzzle pieces, like two halves of the same whole, two pieces in a matching set. She, in turn, would look out for him just as he would do for her, would admire and adore him, would nurse him back to health should he ever get hurt. She would dedicate herself to him, because nothing else in the world made her feel so special, so wanted and needed. She owed that to him.

The sex was so deliciously addicting that Angel found herself beginning to crave it on a daily basis. Just as she had begun craving his touch and his presence well before, this was yet another endowment from him that she would start to desire beyond all reason. She found herself starting to hope that each and every one of their encounters would end in some kind of lewd activity, found herself willing him to touch her in dirty ways whenever he would come up behind her, begging him to stroke the heat of her skin with cool silken hands. The desire was like a sinful fever she couldn’t dispel, and it almost felt like she had no choice in it, but in the same breath she had every choice in it. She held the reins, could slacken or tighten them at her choosing, but yet she chose to give them to him every single time. She would spend such time now, idle time at home or during work, imagining them together. She was a creative girl with a wild imagination, forever prone to vivid fantasies and daydreams, and she could see all the possibilities in her mind’s eye like white-hot flashes of potential. She would imagine the sight of him looking over her, the insectile sound of his delight as she peeled the clothes from her skin and shed them to the side for him. She would imagine his cock emerging from his pantaloons; his big, beautiful cock, slick with beads of excitement for her, writhing and undulating in anticipation for its tight, wet destination. She would imagine spreading her legs for him, holding on to him as he made the first push inside of her, crying out in pleasure as he took her again. She dreamt of a day when he would no longer have to take his time with her, of a day where he could simply position himself at her core and slide inside with little preparation or coaxing. She was getting a little bit better with each session, she was adjusting to his size slowly but surely, and though it made her sore, it was the kind of soreness she could savor in the aftermath when they laid together.

The fantasies would get daring on occasion. She imagined such depraved things, imagined places they could take their lascivious pursuits, new things that they could do together. Angel wanted variety, she wanted to be adventurous. She wanted her sexual experiences to be a spinning wheel, and not settle for the same routine night after night after night. She knew Pennywise to be more than capable of variety and spice at this point, taking into account his otherworldly properties and her own recent history with him. He’d introduced something as taboo as tentacles in their second encounter alone, that seemed to indicate to her that he was aware of her fantasies to some degree, that he intended on indulging them, all of them if she’d simply had the gall to ask him to. Angel had had some… Interesting fantasies in the past, fantasies she’d once thought could only be indulged in the realm of fiction, and now that those fantasies were on the table to be explored she was overcome with the possibilities. The lewd scenarios running amok in her mind were all fighting to take the spotlight, just begging to be brought to life in some planned encounter by her monstrous lover, and she was having a hard time figuring out just what she wanted to do with him. Luckily Pennywise had a way of gauging her wants and desires, it was an unspoken communication between them that defied all rational explanation, and she knew he was more than capable of giving her exactly what she craved without even having to ask her. He was just special that way.

She was a bold girl in private. Shy though she was in reality, she was almost a completely different person when it came to her sexual proclivities, and Pennywise knew that. He knew that her mind stirred with all matter of wicked debauchery when she was idle, when she had nothing better to do but imagine far-fetched scenarios no one could ever possibly indulge. Except for him, that is. Oh yes, Pennywise had the ability to satisfy all her sinful little cravings, and he wanted to make such things clear to her. After all, the more he could make her dreams come true, the less inclined she would ever be to leave him, to forsake his company in favor of her morals. He wanted her own pleasure to take precedence over her principles in time, wanted to her to choose hedonism over the path of righteousness and join him in his self-centered pursuits. He wanted her to realize that, what she found with him, she could find with nothing or no one else. He wanted her to experience the height of satisfaction under his influence and ruin her for all others, make it so that the thought of parting with him never truly crossed her mind. And if it did, he wanted it to be painful for her. He wanted it to be a crisis in her head, wanted her to liken the pain of their separation to death itself, like cutting off a vital limb. He wanted to make her so addicted to him that the withdrawals were unbearable, and he knew that this wasn’t an impossible task. She had been eating up his manipulations all year just as he expected she would, because, at the end of the day, she was made for him, and the universe would pull its own strings to ensure that they ended up together. Now that he had her properly ensnared, now that he held her pretty little head in a vice, he would feed her more and more of what she wanted, give it to her all in time and let her fall under his unbreakable spell. He would satisfy her greatest and most wild fantasies, one by one.

There was one fantasy he knew she had, and it was one he longed to satisfy just as much as she. Angel, submissive girl that she was, wanted… Rough treatment. She had had such fantasies before the archives, but they had only grown stronger once she realized what he was truly capable of, what he could do. When she laid eyes on his gaping maw full of razor teeth, on the sharp talons poking out of his gloves and the beastliness of his massive form that day, it had awakened something inside of her completely, something she’d only acknowledged in short bursts before, something he had even teased that day he had broken out the tentacles. Angel wanted to be held down, Angel wanted to be pushed to breaking point; she wanted to be marked in ways that were more permanent than just a simple hickey. She wanted to be clawed and bitten, forced down and made to take his massive cock until she cried and begged. She wanted him not to stop until they were both finished, no matter how she pleaded with him; she wanted to be so sore that it hurt to walk. She wanted him to care for her after they were finished playing, lavish her in warmth and affection and reassure her of his love, how much she really meant to him. She knew he could do all of that and more, but, to tell the truth, she worried he might not agree to such propositions. She worried he might refuse on the grounds that he didn’t want to hurt her, that he wouldn’t want to willingly bring her any harm, but she wanted it all the same. And Pennywise knew that. He knew of the delicious desire stewing inside her every time he indicated his monstrous nature, knew that she craved such harsh treatment, knew that she trusted him enough to give him such unrestrained control. And he wanted to take that control, wanted more than anything to give her exactly what she yearned for, but he knew he couldn’t until she asked it of him. He cared greatly for her approval and consent, and he would never do anything to her that she wasn’t comfortable with. In the meantime, he was simply content to continue as he had been doing, initiating lewd activities he was sure she would happily participate in, and wait for her to give him the greenlight for something more.

There’d been no visits from the Losers for quite a while. Ever since that confrontation at the house on 29 Neibolt Street, it’d been pretty much radio silence, not a peep from any of them to be heard from Angel’s neck of the woods. While normally this kind of silence was not entirely unheard of from them, Angel knew it was different this time. There was no school to keep them away from each other, no academic responsibilities they were beholden to anymore. It was summer break for them, after all, and that meant they could essentially go anywhere and do anything they wanted. She can only surmise that they’re still broken up over what had happened, that they’re most likely avoiding each other following the big standoff, after the fight outside her house where Bill and Richie had come to catastrophic blows. She was sure truly encountering Pennywise for the first time had done a number on them just as it had done for her when she found him down in the archives, and she knew that such an encounter would not be easily forgotten for any of them. She can only imagine how it’s affecting them; they must be afraid, traumatized even. She had certainly been traumatized the first time she’d seen what he was capable of. Pennywise was a truly terrifying thing to behold, she knew that now, and while it wasn’t dangerous for her it could potentially be dangerous for them. They had, after all, gotten into something of a skirmish with him, and though she blamed herself for his injury, it was, after all, Beverly who attacked him in the first place.

Some part of her did feel for them. They were only children, after all, and they’d been tormented by him. They’d been tormented by him, they’d gotten up the gall to do something about it and came away with a harrowing near-death experience. She _should_ be taking their side completely. So why didn’t she? Angel was contemplating all of this on a daily basis now, and the more she thought about it the more unclear it was all becoming to her. She was having a hard time finding the moral line now. Why on earth was she sympathizing with a monster, why was she so eager to rationalize his actions? Was she too close to the situation? She’d known the children for years, and they were like family to her. She’d looked out for them and cared for them and defended them from bullies. They might as well have been like her own kids, God knows their parents didn’t care enough to take the full reins for their raising. She’d known Pennywise for far less time; he’d only come into her life a little less than a year ago, and his moral character was dubious at best as she now knew. He ate people, and worse yet, he spent his free time tormenting them before making his kills. Sure, it was all for the sake of “salting the meat” as he once told her, but it was still sick. It was still wrong. But regardless of how wrong it was, he was still different somehow. Different from them, and different from everyone else. He was… Kind to her. Kind when hardly anyone else was. He was loving and accepting of her, every part of her, even the parts she hated and loathed. He was there for her on her worst days, adoring her, cheering her on. Giving her a reason to keep going. The kids were kids, they didn’t know what she went through, what she’d gone through her entire life. They weren’t to be burdened with such things; she never told them because they had problems of their own to deal with. Being strong for them really hurt a lot of the time, because she never got a break from it all, but ever since Pennywise came along she could finally breathe. She could finally let things go, let everything go with him, because she knew he would take care of her. Angel could surrender all control and trust that he would make her happy, and he always did. The kids weren’t like that.

She feels terrible, she feels guilty for it, but some part of her is relieved at the aftermath of it all. Some part of her hopes it scared them enough to reconsider their inclination to interfere, she hopes that what they had seen and experienced there at the Neibolt house took all the fire out of them. There was no need for them to kill Pennywise. Pennywise told her that he wouldn’t kill them, and she believed that. He’d promised. So even if he scared them, even if he soused them up with fear it was likely only a game on his part, only a sick little fascination she would grant him in having, it having been harmless in the end and all. Perhaps he was even a little jealous of the attention she gave them. Perhaps that was why he decided to scare them. The thought was just the slightest bit delicious to her, though she would never admit to it. The thought of Pennywise, being possessive of her… He was surely overprotective, if Halloween night, or New Years Day, or that time in the archives had been any indication. He didn’t take well to anyone or anything threatening that which he loved, and that appealed to the hopeless romantic in Angel more than she could say. She certainly didn’t want any mortal harm to come to the kids, but they, in the end, were the ones who had decided to attack him in the first place. He was simply defending himself. Though they were only children, there were far more of them than there were of him. Giving them a little demonstration, a warning against attempting to attack him in the future was entirely justified from her perspective. If they just minded their P’s and Q’s, if they would just learn to ignore the disappearances in the town just like everyone else, there would be no trouble at all.

And there was hardly any trouble now. It was quiet and peaceful, nothing to disturb her and Pennywise, nothing to keep them from each other now that they were engaging in more amorous activities together. It was like the bubble had reformed around them and now they were the only things in existence. None of it mattered anymore. Now that she’s found the bubble again, she doesn’t want them to intrude, she doesn’t want to be bothered now that she’s encased in such beautiful distraction once more. She doesn’t particularly care how it was affecting them, any of them, because what she had with him was just so perfect. He was always with her in some fashion, he looked out for her during the day, made sure nothing happened to her. He encouraged her, he praised her, he gave her the confidence she needed to keep going. He kept her entertained while she was at work, he interacted with her in her hobbies when she was at home… He made love with her, made her feel like she was the most beautiful thing in existence whenever they laid together. Her relationship was perfect, her life was perfect; she didn’t want to let any of it go. She didn’t want the children ruining what she had, as selfish as that was. But… It wasn’t selfish, was it? Didn’t she deserve to be happy too? She didn’t know, she couldn’t tell. It all simply felt too good, _he_ felt too good, and nothing was clear anymore. Some part of her was struggling to feel bad about it all, but it was being overridden by all the wonderful things he did for her. All she could see was rose, and it was all she could see as the days continued and she became more brazen.

“Come _on_ , Pennywise!” She’d called after him, wearing a goofy smile. There’s a heavy bag slung over her shoulder.

“Are you sure you want to do this, pet?” He says, following behind her. He’s carrying a bag of his own, and a basket is clutched in his left hand, his other tangled in Angel’s. “Someone might see us, you know…”

“I don’t care.” She says flippantly, pulling him along. “No one ever comes to the quarry anyway. Oh look- this spot is perfect.”

Pennywise assumed corporeal form in public on occasion, but it was in places no one could see him. Sure, he would often follow Angel around at work, make comments and fluster her to the best of his ability on a daily basis, but he was undetectable like this unless Angel deliberately called attention to him. He was simply a voice in her ear, a hallucination that only she could see. Times like these were different. People _could_ see him like this; it was a risk that thrilled Angel to the core and he knew it. He would save occasions like these for when she truly needed a distraction, when he could sense her bad thoughts getting to her more than usual, and then he would appear to her, often underneath the front desk at the library, and tell her not to give them away. And then a devious hand would slide up her thigh, creeping up her perfect, olive skin, and start to worm its way underneath her skirt and between her legs. Angel would have to remain stoic as those spindly digits pulled her panties to the side, as they slid into her folds and began to fool around with her there, helpless to make any kind of reaction as her face grew hot and she was forced to continue her duties. He would do the same to her down in the archives, would corner her down there where no one could possibly intrude and divert her from her responsibilities for the sake of a dirty little play session. His voice would be low and gravelly, telling her to keep quiet so nobody would find them. After all, how could she possibly ever explain herself if they’d been caught together?

“Lovely day for a picnic, I suppose.” Pennywise remarks, looking up at a clear blue sky.

“You think so?” She says with a bright smile. The second he lays eyes on it, it’s contagious, and he starts to smile too. “It’s summer so I thought… Why not, you know? My family, we… Never really did stuff like this. I took the kids once or twice a year back, but they were more interested in fooling around in the water.”

“Mhm… Don’t _you_ like fooling around in the water, sweetness?” He says playfully, and memories of the bath come flooding back into her head again. She gets a little dizzy.

“I’m not much of a swimmer.” She says, choosing to ignore his baiting question for the time being. She lays a sheet down over the rocks and starts to sit down with her bag. He joins her there, depositing the picnic basket in the middle of the blanket. “I’d much rather sunbathe. Less messy.”

Pennywise starts to lay down on his back, staring up at her. “But don’t you wanna float?”

“Not worth the hassle.” She sighs. “I get dirt everywhere every time I swim in this damn place. I like it for its seclusion, but that’s about it.”

“Mhm, I see.”

She reaches into the picnic basket, pulling out saran-wrapped finger sandwiches. Cream cheese and smoked salmon. Pennywise wasn’t much a fan of fish, so this was more for her. She reaches in again and pulls out a few hotdogs, already encased in buns. He perks up.

“Did you…”

“Yes, I did.” She giggles.

He sits up again when she fishes out a big bag of popcorn next. Kettle corn to be exact. He claps with delight and plants a kiss on her cheek.

“Oh, Angel, you shouldn’t have!” She opens it and pops a few into her mouth, then passes him the bag with a smile. He takes it happily and starts to eat, one kernel at a time, tossing them into his mouth with enthusiasm. He bares playful fangs every time he opens his mouth and she laughs at the sounds he makes chomping it down. He stops once he catches on to her studious observation of him.

“Something the matter, my love?” He cocks an eyebrow at her.

She appears lost in thought, but she snaps out of it, shaking her head.

“Nothing.” She says, the smile on her face creeping into a dopey grin. “You’re just… So cute.”

He puts the bag down.

“Oh, _I’m_ the cute one, huh?” He says with a sly quirk playing on his lips.

“Yes you are.” She says decidedly.

“Oh really?” He says, his lips curling into a devilish smirk. He looks into her eyes as he pokes a finger in her chest. “Because I would say that, of the two of us, _you’re_ the cute one, insisting on a little picnic date like this. Dragging poor ol’ Pennywise out into the public eye for your silly little outing.”

“…I’m not cute.” She protests coyly, looking down at her feet as she starts to unwrap one of her sandwiches.

“That’s not for you to decide.” He says, picking up the bag of kettle corn again. He pops a few into his mouth and continues. “I may not be an expert on these things, but I’ve been around the block a few times, and I can say with confidence that you are the most adorable little thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“…You’re just saying that because-“

“Because we’re dating? Oh, sweet pea, it wouldn’t matter if we were or if we weren’t. I recognize true beauty when I see it.”

She eats her sandwich quietly, trying her best to accept the compliment in her mind. It was still hard sometimes. Pennywise was downright indulgent in all his praise of her; one would think she’d be used to it by now, but it was still hard. She still didn’t entirely believe him.

“Really?”

“Of _course,_ my dear. Why, if you weren’t my intended…” He leans forward, and she can practically taste the savory-sweet of the kettle corn on his breath. His eyes glint with something vaguely dangerous. “…I could just _eat you right up._ ”

Such a remark from this particular character might terrify just about anyone else, but all Angel feels is a shiver of pleasure rather than fear working its way up the length of her spine. She feels something bold, something daring starting to worm its way into her flesh like a feverish sickness.

“Then maybe you should.” She says quietly, matching his stare. They both gaze into each other for a time, neither daring to break their focus on the other, the tension starting to build.

“Mmm, I could _never._ ” He says, leaning closer still. “Could _never_ do that to you…”

His eyes bore down into hers, but one of them starts to wander slowly down her face, eventually falling on her lips. He cups her cheek.

“…So maybe I’ll just settle for this.”

He leans in, closing the distance completely, and kisses her. Her immediate reaction is to melt into it, submit to it readily as she utters a fragile, breathy whine, and her hands rise up from her thighs to rest on his cheeks. She pulls him closer, ever so gently, and he obliges in her direction, but he’s further pleased when she meets him halfway, crawling into his lap and kissing him harder. She’s become so… Daring. She had been such a delicate, shrinking violet when he’d first come into her life, and she could hardly be persuaded to take a simple compliment let alone do something like this, taking him out into public where someone could possibly see them together. Pennywise had been most impressed with her bravery; she was becoming again who she was before, a girl that didn’t care what others thought of her, someone who wouldn’t think twice at a scowl or derisive remark from her peers or give a damn that others thought she was weird or crazy. Not that she wasn’t. No, Angel was definitely of a peculiar sort, but that was what made her so perfect for him. After all, how could anyone of sane mind possibly rationalize what he’s done, what he will continue to do for the sake of love and love alone?

She was quite the special girl, and as he continues breathing into her mouth, he contemplates everything that was still ahead of them. She needed to understand what her role was, needed to know that she was made for a specific purpose. What they would need to do together, where she would go with him when his cycle was over, the things she would have to give up forever… There was so much she didn’t know, didn’t know for sure anyway. He was sure she did a lot of speculating when her mind was idle, that she wasn’t immune to thinking about what was to come to her. She wasn’t a stupid girl, he knew that; some part of her likely knew that, if she was his mate, their rendezvous wouldn’t end at some silly one-year stint. No, she had to know that there was something greater intended for her, even if she hadn’t the fortitude yet to clarify just what it is that was. He didn’t fault her for not being able to ask the big questions, of course. After all, no matter how daring she had become, she was still fearful of the big unknown, as well she should be. But in time she would come to understand it all and accept it, for there was nothing she wouldn’t be able to do with the eater of worlds at her side.

The picnic had gone on to be a pleasant afternoon, indeed. After they finished eating, Angel had brought her sketchbook out and spent the better part of an hour drawing Pennywise in various different styles. She laughed as he contorted his face into all manner of ridiculous shapes, she would get flustered when he pulled the pad away from her to admire her studious handiwork, after he tired of holding his face in the same configuration for too long. Then, after the post-lunch fatigue had consumed Angel, she mustered an impressive yawn and laid her head into his lap, her lazy stare stretching skyward, looking out into the great, infinite blue as Pennywise stroked her hair comfortingly and looked down at her with content. She really was beautiful like this. So at ease, so reassured by his presence that she trusted him so completely, in spite of who he was, in spite of all that he had done. The look of vacant solace in her eyes, the coziness inherent in her disposition as she settled even closer to him; she was truly at peace, and he knew how rare of an occurrence that really was for her. It made his chest swell with pride to know that he had done such a thing for her, that he had drawn such unabashed tranquility from her when she was such a frail, skittish girl. He knew how greatly she worried of everything, everything she feared, from heartless thugs to being abandoned or even such grim, permanent things as death and loss. It brought him the greatest satisfaction that he was not any of those things, that he did not bring her a solitary ounce of disquiet, that she had been so attached that she couldn’t summon such feelings, no matter how hard she may have tried when she first made that horrifying discovery. Pennywise was the antithesis of all that brought her distress; her problems simply didn’t exist so long as he did, as long as he was there to hold her and love her and give her the greatest pleasures in the world. He completely disarmed her.

“The sky is so beautiful.” She mutters sleepily.

“You think so?” More strokes of the hair.

She smiles. “Yeah, it kind of… Reminds me of your eyes.”

He purrs, pleasantly surprised at the indirect compliment. “…You like my eyes, darling girl?”

Her eyes flicker from the sky onto his face. He looks down at her fondly, and she can see that his stare has changed to reflect the scenery above them. They’re the softest, purest blue, and the simple sight of them is enough to make her swoon.

“They’re what I fell in love with first.” She tells him earnestly. “Every day when I… Watched you, I… I would spend the whole time just looking at them, wishing they would look back into me. I had never seen eyes so…”

“So brilliant?” He finishes. “So rich, so…”

“So bright.” They both agree together.

He smiles at her, stroking her cheek. “I feel the same way about _your_ eyes, sweetness.”

She flushes. “Y…Yeah?”

“Yes. They’re sunny, _radiant._ You know… I cannot tell you, pet, how delighted I was, when I woke again, to know that you were here, waiting for me… That first time I saw your face… It was like nothing else I had ever felt. Like a feeling I’d always known but had never truly recognized. I just wanted to stay at your side, look at you forever…”

“I fell in love the moment I saw you.” She confides in him quietly. “I knew you were… Something else. I just didn’t understand why.”

“You were made for me; our souls are intertwined… It was your essence, the core of you, _screaming_ out for your missing half, Angel. The deepest part of you understood right away, it just took some time for the rest of you to catch up…”

He sighs. “And I’m glad you did… I waited so long for you; I wanted to touch you, take you in my arms right away. I wanted to take you away with me forever.”

“…Why didn’t you?” Her voice is small beneath him.

“It wasn’t fair to you.” He says. “You deserved time to come around, time to adjust… I couldn’t just… Rip you away from everything like that.”

She gives him a solemn look, and then she giggles. “Well, it is… It’s all a bit strange, I’ll give you that.”

“Exactly.” He agrees. “You wouldn’t have been able to cope if I’d just suddenly dropped into your life. No… This was necessary, my darling.”

_This was the only way._

There’s a silence between them. They look into each other for such a long time that it feels like seasons pass in the wind around them. She smiles and sits up.

“Come on.” She says, getting up.

“Hmm?”

“I want to swim.” She says, starting to peel her shirt from her body and revealing a swimsuit underneath.

“I thought you didn’t like swimming.” He says, cocking an eyebrow.

“I always come prepared.” She says, now starting to shimmy out of her shorts. Once undressed, she looks him up and down. “What about you? Can’t you like… Manifest a swimsuit?”

“Don’t need to.” He says with a shrug. “It doesn’t matter if I get my suit wet, it’s all like a second skin to me anyway.”

She looks at him, deadpan. “…Ew.” She shivers and then she grabs his hand, leading him towards the water. He chuckles, simply following her direction, and when she dips her foot in she recoils.

“Shit, that’s cold.”

“Cold?” He practically scoffs. “It’s July. Should be plenty warm.”

“I’m really sensitive to temperature.” She complains.

“Oh dear.” He says mockingly, smiling at her look of dismay. “Oh dearie me, poor, _pooooor_ little Angel.” He starts to walk into the water by himself, pulling Angel along gently with a silken hand amid her protests. She resists his pull as he walks further, shivering all the way down to her toes as the cold water envelops the warmth of her olive skin. She keeps pulling against him as he trudges waist-deep into the water, and he looks back to see her yanking on his hand futilely.

“The water is fine, little love.” He says, wearing a look of pure amusement on his face. “You just need to get used to it.”

She shakes her head. “No, I… I think I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to swim, I’m just gonna end up getting muddy when I get out anyway. I think I should just-“

He yanks her into the water with a strong and capable hand. Her yelp echoes around the cliffs above as she crashes into his chest, and the splash is enough to drench her completely. He looks down at her roguishly, with a smile wicked and devilish and she shivers against his wet suit, clinging to him for warmth. She looks up at him with a glare.

“Why did you do that?” She demands to know.

“Because you were being a chicken, my dear.”

“ _Chicken?_ ” She says, offended. “Because I didn’t want to get all wet?”

“You were the one who suggested swimming, I was just helping you face your fear. You’re the one who got… _Mad as a wet hen_.” He says slyly, taking delight at the way her nose flares at him in subdued anger. He shrugs. “Besides.” He smiles. “Isn’t it nice in here now? Admit it, darling, it isn’t as bad as you thought it would be.”

She appears to contemplate his words and finally her face softens. “Yeah, I… I guess you’re right.” She admits sheepishly. “It’s not so bad when you just get it over with.”

“See?” He says, pulling her closer. She giggles and submits to his direction, happily wrapping her arms around his back. He does the same.

“I’m still not looking forward to getting out.” She tells him. “There’s dirt and rocks everywhere on the bank.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, pet.” He says assuredly. His eyes linger fondly at her face, but then one eye starts to wander. One eye wanders, then the other follows suit, and suddenly his gaze is shifting somewhere else. He looks down at the cleavage of her breasts and finds himself thinking lewd thoughts, dirty thoughts. Thoughts he needed to act on. Now. Possessed by his lust, he leans in and starts to lick, nip, kiss up the side of her neck. One hand wanders up her back to play with the straps on her swimsuit, sliding one down her arm. The other slips around the curve of her ass and rests there, cupping the sensitive flesh. Before she realizes it, he begins to undress her.

“Pennywise…!” She squeaks. “Not here, not now…! Someone could… Someone could _see!_ ”

“Mmm…” He growls into her ear, sliding her other shoulder strap down. Her breasts are exposed now and he pulls her closer, roughly, forcefully. “I seem to recall you saying that no one ever comes here. Were you lying, pet?”

Her face starts to burn as that hand comes back around to play with her breasts. She’s helpless to it, she leans into it, moaning as his fingers pinch and twist sensually at her nipples, and then he pinches them harder, enough to startle her into answering his question.

“N…No!”

“Is there a chance you… _Wanted_ someone to see?”

“N-No!” She insists.

He smirks. “Then what’s the problem? Don’t you want me?”

“I do, but I’m _afraid._ ”

“Don’t be afraid.” He whispers, pulling her legs up to wrap around his back in the water. She takes that as an invitation to delicately coil her arms about his neck. She looks into his eyes bashfully. “If anyone comes I’ll take care of them. Promise promise.”

“Well… Okay…” She concedes, still the slightest bit hesitant.

He smiles. “Good. Now…” He pulls her closer, allowing their pelvises to align. She feels something start to writhe and undulate against the crotch of her swimsuit, alive and intent. It wastes no time shoving aside the flimsy material and pushing into her tiny hole. Angel finds herself pleasantly prepared for his cock, and as it starts to fight its way inside its tight destination she throws her head back and starts to moan. He bites her ear lobe and breathes in her ear huskily. “Let’s play, shall we?”

Pennywise grips her by the ass, holding her up in the water, and thrusts gently. His cock pushes past her folds and into her cunt; she whines loudly at the stretch and buries her face in the ruffles at his neck. He shushes her and thrusts again, cupping underneath her ass for more leverage, working his way in more and more with every push. Angel was becoming more and more adjusted to his length with every session. Before, it had taken every fiber of her being to stay strong, not to sob and cry from the pain. She would love it, she would give herself to it so readily, but she would be so unbelievably sore afterwards. Now, she was becoming so familiar with the sensation that she almost craved it. The soreness wasn’t so much an uncomfortable consequence of their lewd activities anymore; it was almost pleasant in its pain. The tenderness between her legs after they were done being intimate was incomparable, the dull ache indescribable. She loved the way it stung, and she loved how much it didn’t matter when he simply held her in his arms afterward and lavished her in such love and admiration.

Once his cock is worked all the way in to the hilt she can hardly register what was once agony from the stretch; it’s mostly pleasure now and she wants more of it. She moans and moves in closer, using the water to her advantage and hooking her arms tighter around his neck. She feels light as air like this and she loves it. Having been overweight for her entire life, Angel never had the luxury of being able to feel small or petite. She always felt too big for a world that didn’t care enough to accommodate her. It wasn’t that being big was bad, it’s that no one was understanding of a person her size, and they made sure to let her know that at every given opportunity. Her peers were cruel, and she grew to resent her body as a result. But Pennywise made her feel different. Ever since he had introduced himself into her life, ever since that fateful night on Valentine’s Day, he had seen fit to remind her at every given opportunity just how attracted he was to her. Caressing her body, squeezing her rolls with eagerness and enthusiasm, peppering her with soft kisses and smothering her with the sweetest words and encouragement. Whenever he watched her clean herself, looking in on her naked body as she brought a wet sponge to her skin, he was even more reassuring of her, whispering praises and little promises of something more until he watched a smile creep across her face, until she no longer believed she was misshapen or disgusting.

He sucks on her bare skin as he thrusts into her, looking into her eyes all the while. He doesn’t focus on the scenery, the soft, blue sky or the vast, mossy body of water around them or the chirping of the birds overhead; he focuses on her, her everything, her tan, olive skin and her rich, hazel eyes and the heavy juddering of her naked breasts, just begging to be touched and squeezed and pulled at. He focuses on the sound of her, her naked curves jostling in the water, her moans and sighs and giggles of pleasure echoing into the bluffs above.

“Look at you…” He breathes. “So beautiful…”

He leans down and takes one of her nipples in his mouth. She cries out and pushes her chest into his face and he’s only further encouraged, sucking and probing the sensitive skin with his tongue.

“P-Pennywise, I… I…” She gasps.

“Yes, my love?” He rasps, pulling back from her nipple.

“Don’t…” She breathes. “D-Don’t… Don’t stop… Oh… Oh _god…_ ” She lets out a huffing, frustrated cry and buries her face in his neck again. His thrusts are slow and sensual but hard and thorough, and with every second as she’s filled and stretched to the brim she can feel the pleasure building inside her loins. But they’re in… They’re in public. True, it was just the quarry but… Still. She tries not to think of it, trying to focus instead on the task at hand, but the fear of being caught is still there in the back of her mind. They should stop, pack up their stuff and go back to her house now. They’ve had enough fun; she brought him out into public like she wanted, that’s really as far as it should’ve gone. But the feeling of him, moving in and out of her, the sensation of his tongue swirling around the bud of her nipple while his cock rubs and pushes at her fragile clit with each thrust… It’s indescribable. Almost enough to make her cum, but not just yet. No, it was still a long way off as of yet, but she could feel it. It’s a gradual build, but it’s there and it’s real. Despite the environment around them, despite the fear and horrific hypothetical of being caught, it’s undeniable.

“P-Pennywise…” She breathes.

“Hmm?”

“We should suh-stop now. We’re… Oh _god_ … We’re going to get caught.” The rational side of her mind is starting to slip through into her consciousness again.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He smirks, still thrusting into her. “You’d like ol’ Pennywise to protect his precious little Angel from ill-intentioned onlookers, wouldn’t you? Would like for me to _swaaaaallow_ them down…” He throws his head back in a yawn and his face stretches into a wide, open maw of razor teeth. He snaps his mouth shut again and grins down at her. “Leave no witnesses, make sure they never bother us again. Isn’t that right, precious?”

She’s quiet, mustering only fragile little sounds now as a result of his thrusting.

He looks at her almost patronizingly. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it, Angel.” He pulls her up in the water so she’s more level with him, and then he leans in close, their faces aligned with one another. He stares directly into her eyes, his own a menacing yellow now. “…You find it attractive, I know you do.” She squeaks and tries to avert her eyes via a tilt of the head, but Pennywise snags her chin and keeps it in a vice, still pushing, still thrusting.

“Don’t hide from me dear, I know all your spots.” He pushes up hard and she cries out helplessly. It echoes. “You don’t care that it’s wrong; you love Pennywise, and that’s all that matters, right? You want to defend poor Pennywise from all that would ever try to hurt him, all that might try to come between us…”

She clings to him, nodding, shivering. He smiles.

“What a good girl you are…” He leans in and kisses her.

They hadn’t been caught. They spent what amounted to about half an hour fooling around in the water, after which Angel and Pennywise toweled off (Angel did anyway, Pennywise seemed to miraculously dry just as soon as he left the water) and returned to the haven of the picnic blanket once more. Angel found herself getting fatigued after an eventful afternoon, so after some deliberation, they both decided to call it a day. She began to pack her things, Pennywise helping amid snacking on more kettle corn, and then they commenced their journey homeward. The way back was pleasant, if a little hot, with the sun beating down on their backs overhead, and as they walked along through the woods Angel found herself smiling at the foliage and trees stretching skyward. The best part was, she hadn’t even known she was smiling, and Pennywise appreciated the natural joy playing across her features, unconscious joy that brought him happiness beyond words. Oh yes, she was back in the bubble, the safety and shelter of the bubble, and nothing could touch her now. Pennywise allowed himself to smile as well, contented by their little exchange back during their play session. He had teased her about her willingness to condone his behavior and she hadn’t complained or objected, she simply took it in almost silent guilt, a tacit admission that she accepted her role as his accomplice now. It was delicious to him, the flavor of it, that special brand of shame in her culpability, something unlike anything else in the world because it came from _her,_ his lover and his intended. He would never eat her, would never feast on her flesh of course, but he could savor the scent and the taste of her emotions, masterfully tweaked and manipulated by his careful silken hands. It was a soft, sweet, delicate one, not at all like the savory richness of fear and dread. He would sip it from her as much and as often as he pleased, because she was his, and that would never change.

Angel found herself blushing as she thought of their games from not long before. Doing… _Those_ things in public, it was nothing short of a mind-blowing experience for her, and she’s still reeling from the exhilaration of it, the theoretical possibility of having being caught in their debauchery. Sure, it was the quarry, and no one ever came to the quarry, but the prospect was still there. Angel was, by all accounts, a rather paranoid girl too, so the thought never left her mind the entire time they were fucking. She hadn’t gotten to finish either, as Pennywise’s tempo was rather stifled by the water, but she was rather close as a result of consistent, deep thrusts. She hadn’t resented it, for, after all, sex didn’t always have to end in climax, and she was thrilled enough by the encounter alone anyway. But it wasn’t the sex by itself that had her so hot and bothered. It was, rather, the tone Pennywise took to her as they went at it, the way he talked to her. The things he said. His insistence regardless of the dangerous position it put them both in. His… Promise to her should they happen to get caught. It was a putrid and vile proposition to be sure, and Angel quite frankly felt a pang of disgust at first when he had made it, but it was quickly replaced by swooning feelings of adoration for him. He had promised to protect her, how gallant! It didn’t matter that his notion of protection was brutally disposing of whomever had had the unfortunate luck of stumbling onto their path, Angel was blinded by that promise. And it made her the perfect accessory to his crimes.

She was beginning to embrace her submissive role in their relationship now more than ever. It was a role that had been established from their very first interaction because, after all, he had been the one to establish a routine in gift-giving in the first place. Angel had been the recipient of amorous advances from the get-go, being the wooed dame from a suitor simply trying to court her and win her favor, and it hadn’t changed or wavered since then. Everything he did from his gifts to the way he commanded her attention on the Derry Children’s Hour or his subtle nudges, his compliments and praises were all a rather dominant display, and demonstrated that he held the reins in their relationship. But Angel didn’t mind that. Angel found it comforting to give up control, to give it all up to him, because she knew that he would take care of her, she trusted him to. It was freeing to not have to worry about making decisions; he would make them for her, and she could give up all fear and concern for the big bad world she lived in because she knew he would protect her. It honestly wasn’t that unfair of a trade. She… Liked it. She liked being told what to do, she liked his dominance and willingness to direct her in almost everything. She liked the sexual aspect of his dominance, that he felt content to tease and bait her in their little games, because he knew she liked it. She liked that he seemed to have some kind of idea about her predilections as far as that went and that he seemed fully intent on indulging them for her. She felt so pampered and spoiled by him, and it was an addicting feeling, because no one in her life had ever done such a thing for her. Having to try to be assertive in life was exhausting, and no one had ever given her the opportunity to simply opt out and surrender control.

Pennywise, conversely, was loving the control himself. He found it so delicious, so sublimely gratifying to be able to have total command over her, especially knowing she was so open to his manipulations. She wasn’t submitting to him out of fear or obligation, she submitted to him because she _wanted_ to be given directions, she _wanted_ to be told what to do. And how could he refuse, when he was the ruler of this town, the eater of worlds? He commanded control over everything around here, and that included his lover. She would acquiesce to his every whim, he would persuade her to his side each and every time, because that was her purpose. Her purpose was to encourage him, to bolster him, to love him unconditionally. Though she might sway him occasionally with her own opinion and perspective, it was not the be-all and end-all of their dynamic. He had the final say, and he would make the decisions for both of them. As he looks on her face when they walk through the trees he smiles, because he knows he can get whatever he wants out of her, and she would like it. She would prefer to be ordered around, to be domineered, to be led along like a simple sheep to his shepherding hand. He even salivates, relishing in the sexual aspect of her submissive nature, how she had simply given herself to his urges earlier despite the fact that there was danger in them. She could have stopped him at any moment. She could have said no, but she didn’t, because she wanted it. And that, to him, is so alluring that he cannot still himself from the maddening desire he feels roiling inside him. He cannot stop himself from thinking about taking her right there against the tree, from finishing what they had started in the quarry, giving her exactly what she wanted from him, the sweet resolution of a long-awaited orgasm. He wanted her to scream and wail from the pleasure, he wanted to break her pretty little mind and reduce her to a sobbing, sniveling mess. A mess that would come to his arms so readily, would let him shush her and stroke her hair and give her much-needed rest from what they had just done together. Giving her a preview of what was to come when they eventually mated, the hours she would spend bent over and taking his cock, shivering in anticipation for the eggs he would plant inside her fertile womb.

They eventually come through the trees and finally make their way back out onto Kansas Street. Pennywise is leading the way more so than Angel now; she was so tired from the energy expenditure of earlier that she started lagging behind just a little, and Pennywise had to take her hand to make sure she wouldn’t lose him completely, smiling as he did so. The way through Kansas Street takes a considerable amount of time but they were in no sort of hurry; this was a part of town where people rarely ever left their houses. Angel wasn’t of any proper mind to fear being caught with him now anyway, she was simply too tired. She had faith that he would take care of the situation either way, however, so it didn’t trouble her so much. Shameful though it was, she was becoming awfully blasé to Pennywise’s dreadful behavior, having come to justify it over time in an effort to survive the moral crisis that had been evident in her mind for so long. It had come down to a fork in the road; she was to either excuse his actions and stay at his side or reject them and leave him behind completely, and she had gotten so irrevocably attached to him, so much so that she truly couldn’t fathom the latter. It was never really a choice to begin with, she had only one thing she could do, otherwise it would kill her from the inside out. She loved him too much, she really did. Maybe it was ridiculous, her having known him for barely a year, but she couldn’t stop, and she couldn’t just let anything bad happen to him, couldn’t just let him starve for her sake. He needed to eat, that much was clear. Perhaps he couldn’t sate himself on the flesh of animals, perhaps the meat was too unsavory to his palate to stomach. She didn’t know, and quite frankly, at this point she didn’t particularly care. He had been doing this for centuries, and what business did she have, as a lowly human, to question the habits and processes of a god-like creature such as he?

People were still going missing. People were still being snatched up from the town, and now Angel had begun to carry on the same way anyone else in Derry might. She simply turned her head and looked elsewhere, tried not to think of the implications or of her own involvement in the whole horrible affair. She was something of a special case. She was not only involved with the cause of the disappearances, she was involved very intimately with it; she loved and cared for the thing that brought such misery upon the town. She laid with the thing in bed at night and let it lull her to sleep with soft, whispered praises, she utterly adored it with everything she had. She was incapable of being impartial to all of this now. While before she was sick to her stomach whenever another disappearance came to light, it was much more muted now. Every time she would start to feel that disgust roiling up inside her gut again it would start to become smothered by all her feelings for him. She would remind herself that she chose him over her own morals, and she needed to be okay with that if she was ever going to sleep peacefully at night. She would remind herself that Pennywise promised to keep her safe, that he wouldn’t eat the kids, and that was the only thing that truly mattered to her in the end. Call her indifference selfish and heartless, but she couldn’t be bothered to care anymore, not very much anyway. To Angel, the thing that mattered most were the people she loved, and knowing that the people she loved here in Derry were safe gave her all the reason she needed to love Pennywise unconditionally. Her old friends were gone, her family lived in Haven, the Losers were the only people she had in Derry and they were all accounted for. She had no reason to worry.

Kansas Street turns onto West Broadway, and from there they make the rounds to Witcham once more. Angel is starting to match Pennywise in his pace now, he has his arm placed protectively around the small of her back as they stroll leisurely through the neighborhoods together. Angel is positively giddy at the gesture but she doesn’t communicate it through anything except a goofy, tired smile. The sun is starting to set, wind rustles through the trees and creates an amiable dialogue with the chirping birds overhead. They’re making small conversation now; they had been mostly silent for the duration of the journey but Angel hadn’t minded, she rather liked the quiet, the intimate exchange of simply enjoying one another’s company without words. But now, there’s a different kind of intimacy in their talk, a familiar rapport that demonstrates their chemistry. Angel discusses her work, the doldrums of working day to day in such a dull environment, Pennywise cracks jokes that have her giggling and snorting in the otherwise empty atmosphere. They engage in little displays of public affection despite the lack of any witness; Pennywise rubs Angel’s back and she leans her head against his shoulder comfortingly. They were in love and it was plain as day, evident in everything they did together, everything they were in each other’s presence. They were almost home, and then they could do whatever they wanted together. They could engage in more lewd activities or they could simply lay together in her bed until the hours became late, until there was nothing left to do except count the minutes until Angel fell asleep, taking them from one blessed day into the next. They continue in their discussion, losing themselves to their own engrossing conversation, so much so that-

“Angel?”

She stops dead.


	28. Just Like Heaven

She feels her heart leap into her throat when she hears it. The voice is familiar, it’s high-pitched and she can sense the confusion in their tone. Pennywise tightens his grip around her waist almost protectively as she stops, and when she looks up, she can hardly believe her terrible luck.

“W…What are you guys doing here?” She stutters out before she can stop herself.

It’s Eds and Richie, who appear to be just as surprised as she is at the chance meeting. Eds stands slightly behind Richie, inhaler clutched in hand and she can see the cast on Richie’s arm, bandages already boasting dirt and grime. Must be from shenanigans in the Barrens, no doubt.

“We were… On our way to Rite-Aid.” Eds says hesitantly. Richie is surprisingly silent. “We were gonna get ice cream and then go to the arcade.”

Angel swallows, her throat thick with fear. The presence of Pennywise on the far side of her peripherals makes her veins spike with incessant panic. Why hadn’t he vanished? Why was he still there? Oh god, how would she ever explain herself? This had to be the worst random happenstance possible. She could deal with some nameless stranger spotting her with him, but not… Not them.

“Is that so?” She says, ignoring those feelings of dread welling up inside her, thinking that perhaps their lack of reaction to her monstrous companion so far must be his own doing somehow. She hoped anyway. “I w…Wish I could join you but I… I’m on my way back from the quarry.”

She beats herself up for that ridiculous admission. The quarry? By herself? Nice going, genius. But then-

“Who’s he?” Richie finally speaks up, his voice uncharacteristically puzzled. They both look puzzled, to tell the truth.

Angel is positively baffled, and for the first time in this encounter, she turns to Pennywise, finding herself vaguely comforted by how he stands tall, his body language still confident and self-assured somehow. She finds herself cursed by a total lack of words.

“I uh… He’s-“

“Robert Gray.” He introduces himself, his grip on Angel’s waist still tight and possessive. “You know Angel, do you?”

Eddie and Richie are both caught off-guard by the sudden interaction of this absolute stranger, to whom they regard with… Almost child-like apprehension. Eddie straightens his back, trying to hide his intimidation to no avail.

“Y-yeah.” He says. “She’s… Our friend.”

He chuckles. “Is that so? Hmm, well… Any little friend of Angel’s is a friend of mine.” He rubs her back comfortingly, and then his hand creeps surreptitiously down to her ass.

She feels her face starting to burn. “Yeah, he’s… My b-boyfriend. I… D-Didn’t get a chance to tell you guys yet, things have been… Pretty quiet. Wanted to give everyone some space for a while, thought maybe this wasn’t the right time to drop this kind of bombshell.”

“Well, you’ve been hiding me for long enough, don’t you think, Angel dear?” He laughs. “I’m sure they don’t mind. They want you to be happy…” His eyes, flickering down to regard them both, glint with something dangerous. “…Don’t they?”

They both go pale and Richie clears his throat. “Of course not, we’re glad for you, Anj. Anyway, we should… Probably get going, right Eds? Rite-Aid won’t be open forever, and the arcade closes at nine.”

Eddie, keeping his eyes rooted to Pennywise, nods his head tentatively. “Y-Yeah… Yeah you’re… You’re probably right.”

“Can’t stick around chatting forever, I’ve aged thirty years just during this conversation.” Richie says, mustering a fake yawn, but his bravado is paper thin now. “See ya later, Anj. Good luck with your man candy. Come on, Eds.” He starts to march past them and Eddie follows swiftly behind. They quickly make themselves scarce, and before Angel knows it, they’re gone, almost as though they’d never been there in the first place.

**~~~~**

“What on _earth_ was that?” She says, as soon as they close the front door behind them.

“I haven’t any idea, pet.” He says, setting down the picnic basket and the bag slung over his arm. “You’d have to tell me. What are kids their age doing out by themselves at this time of day? Sounds dangerous, if you ask me.”

“Not _that._ ” She says, giving him an inappropriate look. “I mean the act. What… What you did. What was that?”

“Would you rather I not save our skins?” He says, scoffing. “We’d both be chopped liver if they found out about us. About me.”

“I know.” She says, setting her own bags down. “But who’s Robert Gray?”

“Just an alias, my dear.” He says, walking over to her. He strokes her cheek and smiles down at her. “Just another face.”

“You mean… Like a human form?” She asks him.

“Precisely.”

“That really could have come in handy, wish I’d known about it sooner.” She says, looking up at him and resting her arms about his neck. “I wouldn’t have gone through the danger of dragging you out like this if I’d have known you could pull this type of mumbo-jumbo. Although, I guess… I should have assumed you could, you being a shapeshifter and all.”

“Was more fun this way.” He shrugs. “Don’t tell me you didn’t like it, I know you did.”

“Yeah but seeing them almost gave me a heart attack. I thought I was going to keel over and die.”

He gives her a look of amusement. “Oh, pet, you’re so overdramatic. You’re just fine.”

She sighs and rests her head against his chest. “Guess you’re right.”

“I’m always right.” He says, his voice dripping with smug. “Now…” He places his hands around her waist. She pulls her head back to look at him again, blush already staining her cheeks at his tone. “What do you say we… Finish what we started down in the quarry, hmm?”

**~~~~**

July had continued just as this, with Angel and Pennywise practically attached at the hip, engaging in just about every activity under the sun together as the weeks continued. Angel was hardly ever alone; the bubble was impenetrable now, and she was nothing if not pleased as punch for the current status of their relationship. Everything was perfect, there was nothing to disrupt her now, her depression finally fading to only a minor nuisance as she continued with her consistent day-to-day routine. She enjoyed her days at the library again, finding some kind of tranquil content rather than boredom in the mundane nature of her duties. She hummed and sang under her breath when she was alone, and when Pennywise was present to keep her company she walked with such vivacity and spring in her step. She was finally at a place where her downs were almost non-existent, as with Pennywise to distract her almost around the clock, she hadn’t any time to be blue. She looked forward to every day, she looked forward to every night, and she looked forward to every single one of their encounters, of the conversations they would have together and the things they would do behind closed doors. Oh yes, Angel waited with bated breath for the times when Pennywise would come to her side, his intent lewd and lascivious, and start to initiate what she could only describe as an infinitely gratifying experience for the both of them.

She never tired of it. There was no thrill equal to dirty, whispered words in her ear, the lecherous, lustful touches he would bestow upon her, delicate and devilish in the same breath. There was nothing quite so exhilarating as how he would engage her, the rough way he would pull her into his lap or his hungry method of removing the obstacle of clothes from her body, how he would toss it all to the side and give her that wicked stare, that ravenous look in his eyes. And then, his cock, his beautiful cock would start to press into her waiting passage, and then suddenly the outside world didn’t matter anymore. All that existed was the tactual sensation of it pressing into her eager hole, burying itself within the tightness of her cunt, and Angel was in heaven. The stretch was so deliciously painful each and every time, and as he began to move inside her the friction was indescribable, like nothing else she had ever experienced. And he would be so _sweet_ with her, he would be sweet or he would be teasing, he would be playful, dominant, but no matter how commanding he became he always took the time to make sure he wasn’t hurting her, that he wasn’t causing her any pain or discomfort. Pennywise was picture perfect, the gentle guardian angel she had come to depend on, and every time she came she would look into his eyes, see all the beauty within that she had fallen so irretrievably in love with. He was the entire universe to her, everything she ever wanted or needed, and as he held her in his arms afterward she could feel the warmth, the all-encompassing radiance of his form enveloping her completely. It was sublime, it was perfect, and she was addicted to it all.

Pennywise knew. Oh, he knew very well, and it delighted him beyond all reason. She was falling completely and irrevocably under his spell, and all he would do is continue to nurture her dependence. He would love her, he would take care of her, he would visit her during the day and lull her to sleep at night. And somewhere in the middle of it all, he would take the time to fuck her brains out, knowing how much she adored the intimacy and pleasure of it all. Angel was a complex girl to be sure, and there were many facets to her character, but she could be incredibly simple when it came to the primal satisfaction of a well-needed fucking. She was so deliciously submissive, like warm putty in his hands, and he could more or less do just about anything he wanted with her. And he would. She enjoyed his dominance, found it positively entrancing, and, at the end of the day, she wanted nothing more than to please him, to repay the favor of all the kindness he had given her over the course of the year so far. It wasn’t that she felt indebted to him, but she was the kind of girl that wanted to give as much as she got. He admired that in her. And she was getting good at taking his cock, too. She had more than adjusted to his size and length at this point, and her stamina had even improved a little as the days wore on. During one of their more recent sessions she had managed to last through two rounds of continuous sex, and though she had been tired afterward, he could tell she had enjoyed it rather thoroughly. He relished it, was impressed by her building resilience. He knew that he was successfully grooming her, that in no time at all he would be able to mate with her and breed her for hours without her passing out. That was important to him, he wanted her present when he planted his spawn inside her. He wanted her to enjoy every last second of their union, wanted her to beg for more when it was all over, for she would be so completely ensnared by the power of his influence that she could do little else but plead for his cock, for him to take her again. And he would oblige, because he wanted it just as much as she.

He took the time after every single session to lavish her in praise and admiration. He found it important to emphasize that he still loved and cared for her more than anything else. Despite his dominant, controlling behavior, despite the fact that he ordered her around in bed and told her what to do, she still mattered to him so very much. She was the light in his world, a lamp that had finally lit up the dark and the gloom he lived in. She deserved to know that she mattered. She deserved the reassurance. She had grown up so unsure of her worth, her self-esteem so criminally low that it broke his eldritch heart, and he took it upon himself now to shower her in the attention that she had been so selfishly denied by all others her entire life. In the wake of their lewd activities, in every opportunity he was given he would devote himself to making sure she knew that she mattered. Pennywise was such a selfish, egotistical creature, but Angel brought out a more human side in him, a side he didn’t particularly resent so long as he could look upon her face and see the splendor in her joy, the perfect smile on her face that made him stir with content. He looked forward to seeing that smile for the rest of eternity, never tired of the idea that she would never leave his side, that he would be blessed with her presence forever. Now that they were finally together, he had found the missing piece of him. He had found his other half, and he would never let her go. Never.

Angel didn’t mind it all. She didn’t mind that he controlled just about every aspect of their sexual encounters, she didn’t mind all the teasing and the baiting and the dominance. In fact, she preferred it. She’s so enamored with him, she loves him so much that it’s all she can think about. She awaited every single session with bated breath. She doesn’t question any of it, doesn’t consider any ulterior motives, she simply thinks of their relationship as perfectly healthy, perfectly wholesome, that the sex was simply the cherry on top of a flawless sundae. She took it all without issue. She would always give herself to him without resistance every time, because every time she did, it always felt so _good._ His manipulations were sweet as candy to her, and she adored the taste, liked the way it rolled off her tongue. Angel found that submitting to Pennywise was the easiest thing in the world, not because she was so submissive by nature, but because making him happy gave her all the joy and fulfillment she ever needed. Seeing that beautiful smile on his face, the contentment playing across his ethereal features, the way his chest would chirr with pleasure when they laid together afterwards in the throes of post-coital bliss, she loved it all. It was enough that she doesn’t mind the control.

Nevertheless, however, she _did_ want to do more for him. She couldn’t simply repay all his kindness with mere submission. He was her guardian angel, and he had looked out for her. She wanted to do the same for him; she wanted to protect him and guard him from everything that might try to do him harm just as he had done for her. And, perhaps more importantly right now, she wanted to do more for him sexually. Physical threats did not loom over them now; she was confident that there was hardly anything in the world that could readily challenge him anyway, and the Losers had all but been disbanded for the time being. The physical intimacy of their relationship was at the forefront, and she wanted to explore it with him as much as she could. She wanted to discover things about herself she never even knew, and she knew it to be safe to do so with him, because she trusted him more than anyone or anything else. She wanted to… Initiate things more often. She wanted to be more daring with him, more so than she had been at the quarry. She wanted to show him she was just as eager as he was to do things, wanted him to know that she appreciated their frequent lascivious rendezvous just as much as he. Not once had she truly begun things; it was always Pennywise that suggested the activity because, as bold as Angel was slowly becoming once more, she still hadn’t the gall to ask him to do such things on her own yet. She was simply too shy. But she intended on changing that. Yes, she would go at her own pace, and it may take time, but she would attain such confidence if it killed her. Pennywise deserved better than some unremarkable shrinking violet. He deserved a daring and vivacious mate, one who not only took what she was given, but gambled to ask for such treatment willingly and freely.

And she decided she would start with today. When she had come home from work that afternoon, Pennywise hadn’t been there waiting for her. He was actually rather quiet today; when she was re-organizing the shelves and cataloguing returns he hadn’t been following behind her, and when she took the front desk he wasn’t flustering her with roguish compliments or playing with her underneath the counter. He had been in her head during her breaks, simply to reassure her that he hadn’t gone away completely, but she could tell that he was busy. She could only surmise he was caught up in feeding; he got awfully absorbed in the heat of it sometimes. She hadn’t witnessed his process firsthand, but she knew it was a cunning craft that required a lot of attention. To tell the truth, some part of her… Still wasn’t ready to see it. Some part of her was still ignoring the concrete evidence of his true identity like the plague. She knew she couldn’t hide from it forever, but she could hide from it long enough until she eventually got over her moral hang-ups, and until then she was content to leave him to his own devices while she continued with hers. It was a perfectly fine plan, and in the meantime, she could plot ways to pass their time together that would make them both happy.

She had been thinking about what she wanted to do all day. It had begun with idle thoughts of the months to come; August was coming soon, and after that would come September, and following shortly behind would be October once more, her favorite time of year. She doesn’t particularly know what she wants to do for Halloween; she briefly ruminates on some of her costumes from the years past and tries to discern whether or not any of them were worth repeating. She doesn’t come to a decisive conclusion, but memories of one particular ensemble strike a match of inspiration in her mind, and she can’t wait to get home so she can rummage through her things and find what it is she was looking for. She had assumed that Pennywise would not come to her until later than the day; this was a pattern of his, after all. When he suddenly went quiet she knew what to expect. He wouldn’t be there in the afternoon to occupy her, but he always surely came at night, simply to bless her with his presence and remind her of his unwavering devotion to her. If today’s lack of events were of any indication, she would not see him until well after she came through the door after work. That gave her plenty of time to work on what she had planned, gave her plenty of time to surprise him.

When she walks through the door she smiles at the emptiness of her living room, a sight that, on any other occasion, would have made her heart sink. But not today. She puts away her things and doesn’t waste any time; things like making her lunch could wait. She had other things to do, and she fully intended on finishing her task before he came back to her. She first makes a beeline to her bedroom and searches through the top drawer in her dresser, finally coming back with her sexiest lingerie, a red polka-dotted bra with a pair of lacy red panties. She immediately sheds her clothes right there, not caring that it decorates her floor in an unkempt heap; she could easily pick it up later, but right now she was on a time crunch. She opens her closet and plucks out her bath robe, black and silken, and ties the sash around her waist. She immediately makes way for the bathroom now. She finds her old makeup bag, then rummages through it to find exactly what it is she was looking for. She knew it was in there. It was collecting dust, but she knew it was in there. Finally, she stumbles across it, hiding behind some old eyeshadow palettes. Bingo. It’s an old tube of white greasepaint, collected from the local grocery years ago during Halloween time to service an old costume she insisted on. Angel had loved clowns for quite a long time, and one year she had been so enamored with them that she naturally wanted to dress as one. Her parents helped her indulge in this particular endeavor, driving her all over the place to thrift stores out of town to glean articles of clothing suited to such a costume. Waiting in an old plastic gallon bag is a tied tube sock filled with baby powder, which she sets aside for the time being. She pulls out a worn, used glue stick as well, covering her eyebrows with the sticky residue until they’re suitably flattened against her skin, and in no time at all it dries with the help of the cooling air. She’s ready now.

She ties her hair back in a low, tight ponytail. She unscrews the cap on the greasepaint and deposits a healthy glob in the palm of her hand, then massages it to warm and soften it up. Taking a deep breath, she dips in three fingers on her opposite hand and starts to administer it over her cheeks and forehead carefully, taking proper caution not to get it into her hair too much. The paint is smooth and very pigmented, and it hides her olive skin tone very nicely. It slides over her chin and her nose, and she takes the utmost consideration as she uses one finger to deposit it over her eyelids and under her waterline. Once her face is suitably covered, she begins to pat down the makeup with her fingers to redistribute the excess, smoothing down the paint to make an even coat. And then, she breaks out the talc-filled tube sock. Holding it in one hand, she takes another deep breath and closes her eyes, then starts to powder herself generously with it, covering the entire surface area of her face from her forehead all the way down to her chin. Finally, the base coat is complete, and after washing and drying her hands, she tests the integrity of her handiwork by pressing a careful finger against the side of her cheek, smiling when it comes away clean. Perfect. She brandishes a clean makeup wipe now, and uses it to rub away spots where she intended to layer makeup on top, such as her lips, around her mouth and nose. Once she’s done, she tosses the wipe and continues in her task.

She replaces the white greasepaint with a flurry of other makeup supplies now, cherry-picking them from amongst dozens of other collected accessories over the years and setting them aside. She selects her eyeshadow palette first, finding it best to start from the top and work her way down. Opening it, she gingerly picks up the dual-tipped sponge brush and carefully rubs it over the caked makeup. It comes away with a healthy amount of pigment, and she starts to administer it over her eyelids. It’s tinted with a lovely lavender color; it pops and stands out against the white strikingly, and she admires it as she paints layer after layer on top in an exaggerated arch that goes over her eyebrows. Once she’s satisfied with the hue of her eyelids she plucks her old eyeliner pencil from the counter of the bathroom sink and pulls off the cap. It makes a pop sound as she does so, and she sets it aside, careful not to lose it as she engages in this next crucial step. She leans forward to get a better look of herself in the mirror and, taking the pencil in one hand, starts to draw a thick, exaggerated line over one eyelid, and then the other. She applies it carefully to her waterline next. She draws another black line over the arch of her purple eyeshadow to make it pop even more, and then she replaces the cap and sets the pencil aside. Next is the blush, which she puffs generously over her cheeks, admiring the gradient of the rosy pink against the stark white of the greasepaint. Finally reaching the apex of her undertaking, she twists the end of her tube of red lipstick and applies it in a nice, even coat over her lips, pausing, and then drawing a cute little dot over the center of her nose. She had felt cold from the chill of the AC when she started, the nip of the air working its way through her bare flesh underneath her bath robe, but as she continued working, she started to feel that distinct, familiar warmth, coursing through her like the most delicious sickness in the world. She knows, she’s excited as she’s putting on the finishing touches and, finally satisfied, she turns the knob on the bathroom door and starts to make her way out to the living room in a confident stride. Well, as confident as she could possibly be, anyway.

And then she sees him. He’s sitting there on the couch, his posture slightly slouched, almost as though he was making himself comfortable in her absence. His eyes are poised at the door, but one starts to wander at the sound of the bathroom door, and he sits at attention when his stare flickers fully over to the sight before him. And what a sight it was. Her bare feet are padding against the hardwood as she closes the distance to the living room and there she finally stands, a healthy distance away. The room is completely silent. Mayor Jello is nowhere to be seen. She crosses her arms and smiles at him nervously, adjusting her stance so she’s taller, more confident. His gaze does not falter, and she can tell he’s clearly taken by surprise; it was not at all typical of him to be so quiet. His stare is almost wide, he looks at her from across the room and stills himself completely, clearly waiting for her to speak for, after all, it seemed all of this was planned. She clears her throat.

“…W-What do you think?” She finally asks bashfully.

He doesn’t answer her, he still seems utterly gobsmacked.

“I came home from work and… You weren’t here. Were kind of quiet all day, so I thought… I thought maybe you might be feeding.” She clears her throat again and continues, trying to ignore the way the vague fear in her stomach is trying to sabotage her. “Thought it would be nice if I… Surprised you for once, you know, like you always do for me.” She brushes a lock of wayward hair behind her ear anxiously. “I thought it would be cute if we… If we matched, you know?”

He’s still silent, and she swallows.

“Do you… Do you like it?”

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even blink. She starts to get antsy, squirming where she stands, but then he crooks a finger at her, finally speaking. “Come here.”

And there it was. The tone of his voice is so deliciously low and seductive, and it makes a wave of pleasure wash over her at long last; it was all what she had been waiting for. He was clearly pleased at the surprise, and she honestly doesn’t know what it was that she feared. Pennywise was always so delighted at her presence (even if some part of her could hardly tell why), and he had never given her reason to doubt his feelings for her. As she prepares herself to step closer, she hears her turntable start to speak up, and it’s a familiar tune that elevates her. “Just Like Heaven” by The Cure. The sentimental sound of the guitar, the wistful, nostalgic refrain of it is enough to send a shiver down her spine, conjuring images of life from the past, a time not entirely pleasant but still one she missed all the same. It was such a romantic song to her, one she couldn’t personally relate to but she found it dreamy anyway. Robert Smith’s voice was young and beautiful, and it makes her yearn for things she couldn’t understand for the longest time. But now she could. She takes a deep breath and her fingers fumble at the knot tied around her waist, finally untying it and shrugging out of the robe, letting it fall to the floor. She bares her body to him, her features obscured only by the lingerie she wears, and looks him with stars in her eyes. If she wasn’t wearing makeup he’d be able to see the hotness in her cheeks, looking at him there, regarding her with the utmost attention and focus, his own eyes full of longing and desire. Her naked skin is peppered with gooseflesh, a product of the cold air and of her own breathless exhilaration, and she can see that he’s restraining himself, can see that he’s doing everything in his power not to meet her halfway.

Pennywise is absolutely melting at the sight of her. His eyes scan her up and down a million times, processing her appearance, her intentions, her daring, and it drives him wild. There she is, a delicate, blooming flower, almost naked before him, baring her body just for his delight, persisting despite the hesitance and vague fear stewing in her belly at the thought of rejection. She had done all of this for him, had even put on clown makeup simply in an attempt to please him, to bring herself closer to him, to pay homage to his chosen identity. He is doing everything in his power to stay composed but it’s hard like this, hard to restrain himself when she displays herself on a silver platter for him, hard when her resolve is to titillate and excite him. He wants to take her right then and there. He wants her to reach him, wants to grab her by the arm and yank her into his lap and rip those flimsy obstacles from her body. He wants to pull her down onto his cock, make her squeal with surprise as his massive length buries itself in the wet tightness of her cunt, move in and out of her, rut up into her body and take his own pleasure. He knows she’s more than well-adjusted by now to endure such abrupt treatment, and knows that such things would make her submit readily and easily, for it was hardwired in her brain to do so. He knew such rough treatment would make her wet, would prepare her more than enough to take his cock, and he weighs his options. He ultimately decides that now was not the time for such things. No, let her have her fun, let her put on a little show for him, take things slow. It would all be worth it in the end, he was sure of it.

Angel looks him in the eyes as she steps closer, trying to imagine what he must be thinking now. It was obvious he liked it, she knew that. Did he want her to take things slow? Was he just as impatient as she was? Who knew. Slightly slower than the beat of the music, she walks, taking her time, trying to make him wait as long as possible as she makes her way over. It would be better that way; she wanted to tease him just as he always teased her. In her own way, of course. As she nears him she can see the shadow of something thrashing against his crotch and she smiles bashfully, knowing now more than ever his thoughts and feelings. He already had an erection, he was enjoying this so much that he could hardly contain himself. It excites her, it turns her on to know he’s just as eager as she is, that he’s just as restive for their inevitable union. It bolsters her, gives her all the confidence she needs to be brave and bold. She’s walking over, putting her all into her seduction, swaying her hips with each step, and then she unties her hair, shaking it so that it falls about her naked shoulders. She gives him a sultry look of temptation, and then she wiggles her hips again, this time out of excitement when she can hear him starting to growl. She had had plenty of practice with this in times past, when she could sense his presence from afar, watching her as she took showers and dressed for the day. She would feel something daring wash over her every time, almost as though she was being possessed, and then she would start to make teasing little displays for him, further encouraged when she could feel the light, telling tremors beneath her feet. She makes eye contact with him as much as she possibly can but it’s still the slightest bit difficult for her, she’s still just a little bit shy. She averts them every so often as a result of her nerves but she’s coming closer with each step, closing the gap slowly but surely. When she reaches him, Robert Smith’s voice finally comes onto the turntable now, filling the room with his warbling verse.

_"Show me, show me, show me how you do that trick_

_The one that makes me scream,” she said_

_“The one that makes me laugh,” she said_

_And threw her arms around my neck_

_“Show me how you do it, and I promise you_

_I promise that I’ll run away with you_

_I’ll run away with you"_

When she finally gets to him, it’s magical. The music continues on behind her as she looks at him fondly. She observes a clenched fist at his side, the way he’s physically restraining himself, the rumbling in his chest, the growls. His cock thrashes against his pantaloons more insistently now and it thrills her, it chills her, and it takes everything in her power not to rush things. No, it would be better if she took her time, would be better for the both of them. She reaches down, slowly, gently, and lovingly strokes the slope of his jaw. She moves her body to the beat of the music now, encouraged by the passion in the vocals, the sweet, heartfelt tone of it, of the voice that serenades them both. As she begins to touch herself, the song goes into another verse.

_Spinning on that dizzy edge_

_Kissed her face and kissed her head_

_Dreamed of all the different ways I had to make her glow_

_“Why are you so far away?”, she said_

_“Why won’t you ever know that I’m in love with you?_

_That I’m in love with you?"_

As she touches herself, she can see him beneath her, a lovesick glaze in his golden eyes, hypnotized as he looks upon her perfect visage. She heaves in a deep breath through her chest. Her skin is smooth and cool as she runs her fingers all over it, her wide hips wiggle tantalizingly to the music and she can see one eyes starting to wander from her face to the rest of her body, his attention drawn elsewhere now. She can see in his face the longing, the complete and utter hunger for the feeling of her, her fragile flesh in his hands as he took her in his arms, and she wants to indulge him but she knows it’s not time yet. She needed to tease him, she needed to make him need her, need her as much as she needed him. The music continues behind them as she proceeds in her display, a display not devilish in his own fashion, but one lustful and sultry and seductive.

_You, soft and only_

_You, lost and lonely_

_You, strange as angels_

_Dancing in the deepest oceans_

_Twisting in the water_

_You’re just like a dream_

_You’re just like a dream_

She moves slow, she cups her breasts with careful hands and moves them down the curve of her hips, pleased and encouraged at how he follows her movements with his eyes. He’s spellbound at her every movement and she loves it, and in her peripherals, she can still see his erection, his cock alive and desperate for pleasure underneath the silk of his pantaloons. She can’t wait to be with him, she can’t wait to feel him with her hands, to assure herself as she did every time that he was, in fact, real, that he wasn’t simply a cruel mirage of some kind. He was just so beautiful. She moans for him as she touches herself.

“Pennywise…” She breathes. She stands above him, the music chattering along over their heads, and arches her chest so her breasts hover in front of his face. She sways back and forth, pushing them closer with each eternal second.

_Daylight licked me into shape_

_I must have been asleep for days_

_And moving lips to breathe her name_

_I opened up my eyes_

_And found myself alone, alone_

_Alone above a raging sea_

_That stole the only girl I loved_

_And drowned her deep inside of me_

Pennywise is entranced, taken with the way her bare flesh is waiting for him there not inches away, that he could easily reach up and touch it, but yet he chooses not to. He chooses to wait, knowing that the spoils would be so much sweeter if he simply let her do as she pleased with him. The time would come for him to take her, and the teasing was pure torture for him, but it was the sweetest torture in all of existence, one he had longed to feel for centuries. He had pined for this feeling, this feeling he could only feel with her at his side, and now that it was finally within arm’s reach he could nothing else but take it in his hands and savor it like the most delectable fruit on the face of the planet, perhaps even within the Macroverse itself. It was so perfect and so untainted, and he delighted in the knowledge that he may taste it for the rest of eternity.

_You, soft and only_

_You, lost and lonely_

_You, just like heaven_

The song is ending, fading out on a final synth chord, and then, without missing a beat, it segues into a different tune, one slower in comparison than the last. “All I Want.” She’s slowly sinking down now, taking her time, intent on dragging this out as long as she needed to in order to push him to his breaking point. She presses her breasts against his chest, pulling him as close as she can, making herself flush against his torso, commanding his attention with something so simple as touch. And as she straddles his lap, she can feel his hands rise up to rest on her naked hips, a rush of lust washing over her when he does so. The instrumental interlude before the spoken lyrics sets the mood; it intoxicates them both, it brings them further under the spell of mutual lust, agonizing and nigh unbearable in such a perfectly delicious way. She looks into his eyes, moving her hands from his shoulders to resting about his neck and then, ever so slowly, carefully, she begins to grind, moving her crotch in upward strokes over his cock. She can feel it hardening and undulating underneath his pantaloons; it excites her, it gives her all the encouragement she needs to keep going, to bring them closer to the primal euphoria they both desperately craved. She’s starting to moan now, moaning as she grinds over his lap and finding the flames of her desire stoked by his favorable reactions. It’s like she’s riding him; Pennywise is finding it harder and harder to restrain himself, rolling rumbles and animalistic snarls of pleasure emanating off of him and punctuating the silence in the room perfectly.

_Tonight, I’m feeling like an animal_

_Tonight, I’m howling inside_

_Tonight, I’m feeling like an animal_

_Tonight, I’m going wild_

“Oh Pennywise…” She sighs dreamily, letting her own lustful thoughts take over her mind now. Though she had the control right now, she still longed for the moment where she would finally give it all up to him, where she could lay back and let him do whatever he pleased with her. It was so wonderfully comforting, to be able to let go like that completely, and it all felt so good. She knew he liked it too, that he enjoyed being dominant. He was an apex predator, after all. It must appeal to some animalistic quality ingrained inside of him just as it appealed to her, to her own submissive and obedient nature. They were simply like puzzle pieces, meant to fit with one another, a yin and a yang to complete them both. Angel found it so romantic, to be able to compliment something else so well, to be so tailor-made that one felt incomplete without the other. She finds herself pleasantly surprised when he starts bucking his hips up now, meeting her halfway, so consumed by his own mad desire that he can’t help himself.

_And all I want is to be with you again_

_And all I want is to hold you like a dog_

_And all I want is to be with you again_

_With you again_

_Just to hold you like a dog_

Their pelvises are flush against one another, she can feel his cock brushing up against the crotch of her panties through the silk. It feels so good, so _fucking_ good; it’s an addicting feeling she can only succumb to helplessly, letting it take her and hold her captive until it’s all she can think about. She’s sure the feeling is mutual, she’s sure that he wants it just as much as she, she’s sure it must be pure torture for him to hold himself back. She’s finding it hard to hold herself back too; all she wants is to simply peel the rest of the clothes from her body, toss it all to the side, fumble at the crotch of his pantaloons, free his cock and have sex with him now, _right now._ She knows, however, that the longer she takes, the longer she bides her time, the more satisfying it will be for the both of them when they finally reach a breaking point. The point in which there’s little else to do but surrender to their basest instincts. She can’t wait for it.

_Tonight, I’m screaming like an animal_

_Tonight, I’m losing control_

_Tonight, I’m screaming like an animal_

_Tonight, oh I’m getting so low_

There comes a point where she simply cannot take the teasing anymore; she decides to take the next step. She wants his touch, she _craves_ it, and she doesn’t want the obstacle of flimsy lingerie keeping her from the full satisfaction of it. So, taking a deep breath, she reaches around to the back of her bra and finally unclasps it. Pennywise immediately works to help her take it off, excited by the new development, watching as she casts it to the floor and bares her body before him. He wastes no time; he reaches up to touch her breasts, his hands careful but eager, and she allows it, moaning into the ceiling helplessly when the smooth silk of his gloves glide over her hardened nipples. They continue in their endless feedback loop; Angel grinds over his cock and Pennywise thrusts his hips up to meet hers, a delicious back and forth, an intoxicating rhythm that entrances them both. They’re both getting closer to one another with each passing second. He’s massaging her breasts with fervor, he’s consumed in the task so entirely, so transfixed on her body that his cock is thrashing more insistently against the silk, ready to break free at any moment.

_And all I want is to be with you again_

_And all I want is to hold you like a dog_

_And all I want is to be with you again_

_With you again_

_Just to hold you like a dog_

She grinds against him, moaning, sighing, getting lost in the feeling, and then she leans up to kiss him, smearing her lipstick as she seeks his mouth hungrily. Pennywise reciprocates, pushing back into her, taking her face in his hands as he deepens it, growling, snarling all the while. It makes her wet; the sticky slick of her arousal is becoming more and more prevalent and it soaks tellingly into the fabric of her panties as she continues moving over him, delighting in the dominant nature of his actions now, that he’s taking more charge with each and every moment that passes. She can’t control herself now; his cock is starting to press into her clit and she loves it, it’s addicting, it’s like no other feeling in the world. She’s getting more and more desperate for her own release; she could cum right now simply from all the heat of their mutual tension, from all the pent-up energy, but she knows she has to wait. She could, however, take the next step, and it was an important one.

_That’s all I want_

_That’s all I want_

_Just to hold you like a dog_

_That’s all I want_

_Like a dog_

_That’s all I want_

_That’s all I want_

Once she pulls back from the kiss she smiles warmly at him. The song continues on behind them, nearing its end now, and she stands up again, taking a step back as she lets her hands glide over her own breasts and down to her hips. She looks him in the eyes as she does so, watching them as they follow her hands all the way down to her crotch, watching as she hooks fingers into her panties on either side and starts to pull them down over her thighs. His growling is louder now, it’s almost a cross between a growl and a purr, and she shivers when his eyes flicker hungrily back into her own, communicating to her a silent promise, that he intended to fuck her good and hard once he got his hands on her. But not just yet. Her panties drop to the floor and she gingerly steps out of them, standing before him, daring him to make a move of his own. But he doesn’t. He waits, simply allowing his cock to rip free of its confines and writhe within a patient, stroking hand. She lovingly caresses the slope of his jawline once more and guides his face towards the far end of the couch, where she slowly walks and climbs onto the gingham. It’s cold underneath her bare ass and she finds it to be a stark contrast to the warmth of her skin, the screaming heat of her naked body. She lays facing towards him, her legs spread, exposed and utterly vulnerable. But, in the end, this is still ultimately under her control, and as she looks into his eyes she breathes two delicious words that make him shiver.

“Watch me…”

_Just to hold you like a dog_

_That’s all I want_

_Just to hold you like a dog_

_That’s all I want_

_All I want_

_Just to hold you like a dog_

_All I want_

_Just to hold you like a dog_

Without another word, she sets to her task. Gentle, steady fingers slowly reach down between her legs and start to stroke up and down her slit, keeping her eyes rooted to his all the while. And what a sight he is, the frustration apparent in his furrowed brow, the dangerous glint in his golden eyes hinting at something monstrous under the surface that’s fighting to break free, his body turned towards hers now as he follows her instruction. It turns her on even more, enough for her to keep teasing herself, teasing him in turn, bringing them both closer to their respective edges. He simply keeps stroking his cock, slicking his glove over the wet tentacle with huffing, chuffing growls, his tone low and deep and full of primal desire. He watches her every movement, watches as she throws her head back and whimpers, as she slips a few eager digits in and fucks herself on them feverishly, as one finger swirls around her clit and stimulates her in the most perfect way imaginable. The pure need is apparent in her movements, and it’s clear she wants him more than ever before. It drives him absolutely wild, knowing she’s so desperate for him, and he strokes his cock faster, snarling as he comes closer to his own perfect release. But it’s not over yet. He needed to wait for her. Angel can feel the pleasure coiling in her belly for the umpteenth time, keeping her eyes rooted to his cock, his massive hand curling over it, finding that the sound of his noises plucks a deliciously submissive chord inside of her. She wants him to take charge completely now, wants him to take the reins and finally fuck her, fuck her fast, fuck her hard. It was becoming unbearable. The thought of them coming together spurs her on and she becomes louder, needier and more insistent. Pennywise strokes faster, faster, and he imagines the same, imagines the sound of her squeals as he takes what is his, the obscene sounds their bodies would make as they slapped together and melded as one. His rolling, rumbling growls are coming up through the floor now; it makes the room quake ever so slightly, she’s starting to mewl his name.

“P-Pennywise… Please, I… _Pennywise…_ ”

It calls to him, the sound of her, whimpering and whining his name; it stirs the lust inside of him. He wants to go to her, come to her aid, fuck her, give her exactly what she wants, what she’s begging for. She wants him, wants his cock so _badly_ , it’s like a sickness for her and only he holds the cure. But he’s starting to gain control of the reins now, he feels comfortable dangling her relief out of arm’s reach just a little bit longer, until it’s agonizing for her. He would choose when they would finally reach one another, and it wasn’t long now, but still he decided to make her wait. He can see it in her eyes and in her movements, increasingly frantic, increasingly desperate; she’s becoming little more than an animal like this, consumed in only one simple goal. Her loins are burning, her face is contorting from the mounting pleasure, the makeup on her face is melting ever so slightly from the perspiration, and all the while she continues, intent on keeping this up for as long as humanly possible. He is consumed in his own quest for satisfaction, his hand never leaving his cock for even a second as he imagines the two of them together, going at it like two wild animals in the throes of a mating heat. The music continues on behind them but neither particularly notice now, too caught up in the game they were playing together to expend their attention anywhere else now.

Their respective orgasms are coasting closer and closer with every second that passes. It’s getting harder and harder to ignore, it’s getting harder to keep themselves apart from one another. It’s getting harder to deny the magnetic force working to pull them together, to make sure they ended up with each other at all costs. They both know it, as they both moan and pant and huff in frustration, that any second now it would simply be too much. The time was coming to abandon all rationality, to pursue the wanton pleasure of such lascivious pursuits, because nothing else mattered in this moment. As they look into each other’s eyes, they dare one another to make the first move, dare each other to do what they had both been begging for. And then, slowly, surely, Pennywise begins to unconsciously inch closer to her. Then it’s more deliberate. He gets onto his knees and starts to crawl, too enraptured by the sight of her to control himself, still slicking one hand over his cock all the while. Her eyes are squeezed shut as she works and works tirelessly, still singing his name, still crying out for him, fingers of one hand buried in her cunt and the other playing with one vulnerable breast. Her hair is starting to get ever so slightly mussed from the way she throws her head back into the arm of the couch, and she doesn’t notice him until she can suddenly feel two strong, firm hands gripping her hips out of nowhere. Her eyes dart open and find his own, and there’s something dangerous in his eyes, something predatory. He pulls her closer, looming over her now with a snarl that has her frozen to the spot, her hand still lingering at her pussy. He reaches over and pulls it away, and his grip on her wrist is unforgiving as she looks into his eyes, matching his stare with silent anticipation. He smiles, baring his razor teeth at her hungrily. He positions himself, rubs his cock up and down her wet slit tantalizingly slow, and then, when neither one of them can wait any longer, he starts to push in.

And oh, what bliss. She immediately throws her head back with a shuddering mewl and he repays her moans with gentle, sucking ministrations at her neck, leaving marks and hickies on vulnerable skin as he works his way inside. Her tightness offers little resistance, she’s more than prepared to take his size now as a result of such prolonged teasing, suitably wet to accommodate him in his girth. It doesn’t even produce a wince on her face as he eases in, and it only takes him about five thrusts to work himself all the way in to the hilt. He’s practically sliding in and out of her, her cunt is dripping with sumptuous arousal and it pleases him immeasurably to know that she had come so close to ecstasy simply at the thought of them together. It brings him back to the night of the bath, when she had been so completely flustered as a result of what he had done that she couldn’t resist touching herself, from fucking herself on that silly little toy as she entertained the fantasy of him coming to her, holding her, making love with her until all she could do was sob his name like a broken record. It had stirred up such powerful feelings for himself as well, and he couldn’t resist looking over her as he did the same, couldn’t stop himself from envisioning her around his length, sheathing it so perfectly with gorgeous legs spread to allow him deeper access. She would not need toys anymore, not as long as he was around. He would indulge each and every one of her filthy little fantasies. She would even, in time, ask for him to, would tell him exactly what it is she wanted, what she wanted for him to do to her. While it was true he could tell what she wanted, there were certain things he wanted her to beg for all on her own anyway. It would be so much more delicious, an experience much better savored knowing she wanted it enough to willingly abase herself by pleading with him like a man in prayer to a merciful god. He would pretend to be on the fence about it, he would feign hesitation to treat her in such a way, would appeal to her idyllic perception of him, looming over her on a rose-tinted pedestal, but he would relent in the end. He would smile down at her, stroke her cheek, make her feel loved and valued…

“Oh Angel… How perfect you are…”

“You’re like an open book, my dear… I could just read you all day…”

“You’re much kinder than I could ever be, sweetness…”

_You’re like no one else in the world, my pet._

It brings him such perverse joy. The thought of fucking her until she loses all cognizance, until it hurts to walk, marking her with his claws, his teeth, drawing the delicious red from her body, lapping it up as he took care of her after the fact and reassured her, praised her for taking him so perfectly. He always would. He would always take care of her. No matter how roughly he treated her, no matter how much he pushed her around and manipulated her into bending to his will, he would still always take care of her. It was truly a testament to his feelings that Pennywise would do such a thing. If he hadn’t cared for her, he would simply take his pleasure and leave her to recover on her own; he would not stop to discern whether or not she was enjoying herself or spare any remorse for her pain in receiving him. She was made to please him, so why should it matter in the end whether or not she accepted her purpose? Why should it matter when his own satisfaction was paramount over hers? It mattered because he loved her. He wanted to make her feel good, he wanted her to be happy. Pennywise was a selfish creature, but he could spare some consideration for that which completed him, that which brought him such pleasure and belonging. Angel was a special little thing, because she inspired feelings inside of him he frankly didn’t even realize himself capable of experiencing. In all of his existence, he had only ever looked out for himself, but now that she was here, now that she had blessed him with her presence, he would look out for her now, too. She deserved to feel safe, she deserved to feel loved and cherished. She deserved everything he had to give her.

His pace is slow and steady now, and he smiles as he looks upon her face, beads of eager sweat rolling down her alabaster cheek as he pushes into her gently. He picks up speed now, moving ever so slightly faster with each thrust, keeping a firm grip on her hips as he does so, and in no time at all he’s picked up a commanding pace. She’s plenty wet to accommodate him, she’s so slippery down there that he can more or less go as fast as he likes, and as he moves he can start to hear her crying out for him again. It riles him up and he pushes faster, pushes hard, and her whimpers quickly become loud, needy sobs, such beautiful music to his ears. She’s pushing back against him, returning his thrusts, and as he looms closer she hooks fragile arms around his neck and pulls him toward her for a kiss. He obliges in her desperate show of affection, kissing her back furiously, trilling and growling into her mouth, tasting her slippery tongue with his own and smiling into her lips when he can feel the throaty vibrations of her frantic noises buzzing in his mouth. As he continues his bucking thrusts she pushes her chest up, indicating a specific, longing, aching desire, and he indulges it happily, squeezing her breasts with keen enthusiasm, tweaking and pinching the peaks of her nipples as he continues in his hungry conquest of her mouth. He moves to other places now, he nips at her ear and plants wet, sloppy kisses all over her cheeks and the white canvas of her forehead, delighting in the way her makeup is starting to become smeared from perspiration and his own greedy handiwork. He does not stop, he does not let up for even a second. He’s too lost in his own rapacious lust now.

Angel is too overcome with pleasure to be coherent now either, all she can manage is desperate, breathy gasps, moaning, whimpering his name, pleading for him to keep going as he fucks her with reckless abandon. She huffs and makes noises like that of a bitch in heat, frustration apparent in her features and the frantic way she pushes back into him. The music seems to have stopped; the wet, squelching sound of their bodies slapping together is much louder than it would otherwise be as a result of the silent room and it makes her face hot underneath all the makeup, it absorbs her even more into the task at hand and allows her to immerse herself completely. The friction of his cock up against her clit stimulates her to the point that she can feel her long-awaited orgasm gradually building, it makes her all the more desperate for release, the pent-up lust from the lap dance consuming her now. He’s so beautiful even in his aggressive disposition, the way he grunts and snarls, his jowls dripping with viscous drool from all his excitement like a rabid dog, the way the rims of his golden eyes bleed with a ravenous, seething red, it only serves to communicate to her just how much he wanted this, that he wanted it just as much as she, and that he couldn’t restrain his animalistic nature, couldn’t keep up the humanoid façade he otherwise maintained so well. They were both so desperate for release that they were going at it tirelessly, minutes seemed to pass as hours like this as they made furious, unending love, and though they mutually wished for it to last forever there was only so much time before one would cum and the other would follow behind shortly thereafter, before their desirous ends were finally realized at long last.

He’s getting faster with each thrust; his orgasm is coming at long last, and he knows that hers is ever so slightly following behind. He couldn’t help but bound assiduously towards his carnal goal, his hips never stutter as he pushes and shoves his cock into the wet tightness of her cunt, his member pulsating with looming ecstasy at the sound of her mewls and needy cries for him. He’s coming back with low, growling moans of his own, his chest rumbling with satisfaction at the feeling of her walls around his cock, and the way it squeezes around him draws more and more pleasure out of him with each thrust. Surprisingly, she is the first to cum now; the sensation of her cunt flexing around his cock is nothing short of heavenly, and it does him in so completely, so perfectly. He arches his back and roars; the room quakes, trembling with the sheer weight of his bliss, and she squeals in turn, bucking her hips up into his cock, pulling her legs up to allow him deeper access as she shudders and feels the full euphoria washing over her body like a tidal wave. It seems to last forever as they thrust into each other, bucking endlessly and ceaselessly until they finally start to come down from their respective orgasms. Angel regains clarity first; she lays spent beneath him with her eyes shut in shameless jubilation and gasps breath into her starving lungs. She lays beneath him, slowly reclaiming her composure, and she feels so at peace, so serene as she opens her eyes again and takes in the sight of him looming over her, panting, swallowing hard and looking her directly in the face, love and desire apparent on his own as he comes back from the height of such libidinous exhilaration. He relishes the messy makeup on her face, finding the sight of her mussed hair so deliciously attractive, the way her chest heaves from the stress on her lungs and how her eyes are visibly tired and weary. He pulls his cock from her cunt, beaming at the way his seed spills out of her, dripping down the lips of her pussy so captivatingly, beads of want and arousal that complement the rosy complexion of her folds. He smiles.

“Round two?” He asks.

She’s still breathing heavy. There’s a palpable quiet between them once more as she thinks in her post-coital bliss, and then, after some silent deliberation, she swallows and returns the smile. “…Round two.” She agrees. They kiss and start to go at it again, as fervent and passionate as before.


	29. Good Impression

“I think they’d really like you.”

It had started one afternoon after they had finished having sex again. It was the midst of August now, some weeks after their physical relationship had begun to flourish, and Angel was becoming increasingly more delighted with the impenetrability of the bubble encasing them both. Nothing could disturb her now that she had mostly gotten over the hurdle of processing his true identity, and Pennywise was nothing if not accommodating in helping her turn a blind eye to the remains of what she couldn’t stomach, that is, the graphic in’s and out’s of his daily routine outside of their relationship. She couldn’t yet bear witness to his process but she could very easily keep her head down and hum as he went about his business, and that was all she needed to cope at this point. All the intimacy did wonders for her, too, and it made it that much easier for her to ignore it all; if she was starting to grow even the slightest bit uneasy Pennywise would seem to sense it. He would come to her, he would interrupt her thoughts and remedy all her disquiet with a sweep of gentle touches and kisses, spoiling her with all manner of lecherous stimulation until all she could think about was her own carnal desire. And then, as one session became another, and another after that, Angel was starting to grow more and more aware of an idea lingering in the back of her mind. It had started as a silly afterthought, no more than almost a joke in some fashion, but it progressively fought its way to the forefront of her mind until she could no longer help but entertain it. It had grown more likely and plausible with time, and now, as she laid with him in bed, savoring the sound of her own labored breathing mingling with soft, luxurious purrs, she’d finally broached the topic of conversation with him.

“You want me to meet your parents, sweetness?”

It had seemed stupid to her at first, but as their relationship progressed and matured with time, it no longer appeared to be as ridiculous as it initially had cracked up to be. Angel both anticipated and dreaded such a thing with equal fervor; she always dreamt of having someone to parade around her family, a significant other of some kind, but she also found the idea vaguely mortifying and stressful in its own right. To face the judgement of the people she was closest with in the world, to be under their scrutinizing eye as they poked and prodded and dissected the nature of her would-be relationship; it simply gave her the goosebumps. But those goosebumps weren’t all bad either. She rather liked the idea of having someone special enough to bring home to her family, to have someone to finally sate their long-established expectations of her, and Pennywise was nothing if not special. She wanted them to look at the two of them together and be happy for her, she wanted them to see just how well he treated her, just how much he lavished her in love and admiration, something they’d said she’d always deserved. She wanted to make _them_ happy in turn; she’d known just how long they’d been waiting to see her like this, her problems not solved but alleviated by the tender touch of someone exceptional, someone she truly deserved. It appealed to the hopeless romantic in her a great deal, so much so that she couldn’t hold herself back from insisting on the prospect.

“I think it would be nice, you know?” She says, her shoulders slightly shaking from the excitement of it all as she faces him in bed. “We could get away for the weekend; I could show you someplace new, we could spend some quality time together outside of Derry. I think it would be good for both of us.”

“Oh, is that so?” He chuckles. “I’m sure the town could use a vacation from me, too. Very well, precious girl. Pennywise will indulge your silly little dating ritual.” She gives him a peck on the cheek.

“ _Yes!_ I’ll call my parents- We should be able to get out there this weekend…”

Pennywise had been absolutely elated at her eagerness to introduce him to her family. This was, after all, a very important formality for humans, and he expected nothing less from her in terms of her behavior in this regard. It was significant, no doubt about that, and he knew that it signified a deeper level in their romantic courtship. To meet her parents was no laughing matter, he knew that, and he knew to conduct himself accordingly. He would put on all the charm for them; he would come to Angel’s every beck and call, hold her hand, pull out and push in her chair at the dinner table… He would demonstrate to them very clearly that he was the utmost that Angel deserved, that he was the pinnacle of their expectations for her. A dashing gentleman, no doubt, that had swept her off her feet and brought her back from her lowest lows, that had been there in her greatest times of need when she was desperate for relief from the pain of living. Her parents were perhaps more familiar with Angel’s depression than anyone else in the world, almost as much as Angel herself, and they would surely swoon at the presence of someone so gentle and considerate as he to bolster their beloved daughter and keep her greatest demons at bay, to keep her in check when nothing else surely could. Pennywise was nothing if not prepared to undertake such a task; after all, he’d been preparing for it his entire existence, and there was no greater pleasure to him than the simple look of happiness and content on her face, to know that he had been the reason for such peace and serenity playing over her sun-kissed features. It was enough that he didn’t mind being led along on such an excursion, didn’t mind leaving his well-deserved turf behind for a couple days in order to please his mate. It was all worth it just to see her smile.

She’d called her parents and asked to come stay for the weekend. She’d cited that she wanted to bring a friend to stay with them and, them being the perfectly hospitable people she’d grown up admiring so greatly, agreed easily to the proposition. Once she’d gotten off the phone with them she’d practically jumped into his arms with excitement; _she_ was the one to lavish him in kisses now for, as anyone who was anyone knew, Angel could get very affectionate under the right circumstances and with the right people. She peppered little kisses all over his face and giggled in his arms as he kissed her back, and they danced around the living room together in wordless jubilation. It was such a perfect moment that she hadn’t wanted for it to end, but she knew that it must to make way for better moments. As they come to a stop in front of the couch again she takes a deep breath and pulls him down onto the cushions with her so she can climb into his lap. Once they’re properly situated she hooks her arms around his neck ruff and looks up at him happily, and he dips down to nuzzle his nose against hers. She melts at such a display of affection, giggling again as that gesture slowly becomes a long, indulgent kiss on the lips. He takes her head in his hands and closes his eyes, savoring the taste of her as she moans and practically sings into his mouth, and when she pulls away she rests her head against his chest. His heartbeat is comforting.

“I can’t wait for you to meet them.” She breathes.

“Nor can I.” He smiles down at her. “I’m sure they’re quite lovely people, to have raised someone so gorgeously radiant as you, my pet.”

“They’ve seen a lot.” She admits to him. “They’re the only ones that have been there for me as much as you have. They’ve never abandoned me.”

“Then I’m sure we’ll get along fine.” He says soothingly. “Not to worry, precious girl, I’m quite skilled at making good first impressions. I’m sure I’ll love them, and I’m sure they’ll love me, just as they love you.”

“Still.” She says, a frown evident in her voice. “I’m not sure I can be… Entirely truthful, as to how we met.” She pauses. “…There’s a _lot_ I can’t be truthful about, actually.”

“Then don’t be.” He says simply. “It’s not as though we have a conventional relationship. We’re like nothing else, sweetness, and I don’t expect them to understand that. I wouldn’t begrudge you stretching the truth a little bit. I’d even help you sell the ruse.”

“You would?” She looks up at him. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course, darling. I can put on a face better than anyone.” He beams.

“Well, can you… Can you put it on right now?” She asks him hesitantly. “I… Kind of want to see it. What you’d look like, I mean.” She’s always been rather curious as to what he’d look like without all the makeup. It was something she had wondered about ever since she had laid eyes on him for the first time.

Pennywise smiles down at her. “Allow me to get up and I’ll show you, sweet girl.” She can already see it on his face as she shifts from his lap. Color washes over the skin of his cheeks as he stands to face her, and as he towers above her comparably petite form she can start to observe the ruffles on his suit shrinking and receding into nothing. In time it reveals the lanky but toned appearance of his manifested body, and his clownsuit is gradually replaced with smart professional dress; a long-sleeved, white button-down shirt with suspenders, black slacks, polished oxford leather shoes. His beautiful fiery curls are traded for a tastefully mussed head of brown hair, and his eyes, once blistering orange, blaze afresh in a brilliant shade of blue. His face is young, his features striking with undeniably boyish charm, and she finds herself blushing at the sight of him.

“Is this satisfactory, my dear?” He smirks.

“Yes, it’s perfect.” She says, giggling coyly into her hand. She stands, looks him up and down with a scrutinizing eye. “…Robert Gray, huh? So _this_ is what you looked like when the kids saw you.”

“Yes, indeed. I’ve been using this form for quite a long time.” He says, snapping his suspenders. “Easy to lure in prey this way.”

“Then… Why do you use the clown form so often?” She asks, a bit puzzled.

He shrugs. “Because I like it.”

Something bold washes over her and she pulls him closer to her. “Mmm, well… _I_ like it too.” She whispers. He grins down at her, letting a tension-filled silence brew between them. And then, before it becomes too much, he breaks it.

“So…” He says. “Shall we take it for a test run, dearheart? I think the diner down the street is a fitting venue for us.”

“You don’t… _Like_ human food, though.” She says. In that moment she’s temporarily uncomfortable, having to swallow down the unsettling knowledge of what he _does_ eat and, worse still, the fact that she was entirely complacent in it now. She tries to ignore it.

“I’m perfectly capable of putting on performances, and it’d be nice to get in some practice before the weekend comes.” He says casually. “Besides, I like _some_ food.”

“ _Circus_ food.” She corrects. She appears to ponder something for a moment. “…Say, why _don’t_ you eat human food, anyway? Why do you…?” She gestures with her hands. She clearly doesn’t want to say it.

“It holds no nutritional value for me, pet.” He answers. He takes her hand gently and starts to walk towards the door. He opens it. “It’s empty for me, and it all mostly tastes flavorless anyway.”

She’s hesitant. “I… _Guess_ I understand.”

“ _That’s_ my girl. Now…” He bows with a smile, pausing at the threshold. “After you, sweetness.”

**~~~~**

The rest of the week passed rather painlessly. Once Angel had the excitement of a weekend trip to look forward to, she was far more buoyant at work than usual. She attended to her duties peacefully, a smile on her face as the hours passed. Pennywise did not disrupt her very often; he could see she was plenty occupied in her contentment and he didn’t want to upset that, not now. He knew how rare it was for her to be so free of worry, so busy in her ease that she had nothing to do but look forward to what was to come. It brought him such joy to know how much she was anticipating the events of the weekend, it thrilled him so that she was so eager to introduce him to her family, to her parents, no doubt very important figures and role models in her life that had shaped her mind and brought her up to be the loving, caring girl that she was. Pennywise hadn’t any hand in the way Angel was, he hadn’t any cosmic influence to pick and choose features to his liking. It was simply guaranteed that she would end up being perfect for him; her development as a person would make her naturally compatible because, after all, she was his soulmate, and she needed to be well-suited to him and his needs. Though he had drank in the knowledge of her history when he awoke from his great slumber, it wasn’t until he talked with her, it wasn’t until they laughed and danced together that he learned just how flawless she was, even in all her silly little imperfections. Looking at her now as she does the returns, as she helps the patrons with their book selections and wipes down all the shelves at the end of a long work day, it makes him smile to know just how blessed he had been to receive her. Angel was truly something special.

When she’d gotten off of work on Friday her heart had been racing in her chest. She’d been thinking it over and planning it in her head all day; how she would introduce him, how she would talk with them and answer their prodding questions. She was sure they’d be plenty nosy about the whole thing; after all, Angel’s parents had been waiting for quite a long time for something like this. Lord knows they asked about it enough every time she saw them. It made her happy to consider their potential reactions, the shock, the sheer joy that would play across their faces at the discovery, when she finally unveiled him to them. Angel had finally found a boyfriend, how exciting! She knew her mother would be over the moon, her stepfather almost just so but with a predictable touch of caution and protectiveness. It was, after all, standard procedure for dads to be defensive of their daughters. She didn’t resent it, even if the idea made her ever so slightly embarrassed. She thought it chivalrous that he wanted to look out for her, and knew that not all kids were so lucky to receive such doting behavior from their parents. But Pennywise was not anything to worry about. In fact, he was just the opposite. He was just as doting and protective as her parents were, perhaps even more so when taking into account the people he had disposed of just for her sake. He was a terrible, ghoulish monster, and he had done a great many bad things, but Angel was immune to any threat he might pose; she was, in fact, the lone exception to the rule. She was his soulmate, his other half, and Pennywise simply could not abide anything to happen to her. She trusted that, in the end, he would take of her always.

When Angel walked in the front door that Friday afternoon, Pennywise had been there to greet her in the flesh as he almost always did. After a quick peck on the lips she sets down her things, and then she wastes no time. She’d had some clothes packed for the trip already; a shirt or two, a couple skirts, a pair of jeans and, of course, her favorite black silk sweater. When she strides into her room she peels off her work clothes in favor of something a little more comfortable, that is, a loose-fitting Depeche Mode t-shirt (“Music For the Masses,” it says) with black leggings and her old, worn out Doc Martens, and then she finishes packing her bags for the weekend. Pennywise was present, of course, making favorable comments at the sight of her naked body, making idle chat with her all along the way until she was just about ready to go. She gushed about her excitement for the trip, prattling on at length about her parents and how she was sure they were going to love him, and Pennywise could do nothing else but listen, nod, smile, delighting in her utter joy and enthusiasm. It made him so happy by extension to see her light up with passion and fervor; her personal contentment was a flavor unlike anything else in the world, one just about equal to his craving for fear and torment, and he loved to sip on it, relish it, savor it like the most delectable cocktail in existence. She makes the final preparations before leaving; she dumps a hefty pile of food into Mayor Jello’s bowl, making the effort to seek him out as she waits for the cab to arrive. He seems to be hiding; she eventually finds him underneath her bed, cowering as though he’d seen a ghost of some kind, and she reaches in to drag him out. He meows indignantly and tries to resist her but she doesn’t let up. She finally manages to haul him out; she can hear his claws scraping across the hardwood, and she succeeds in planting a kiss on his nose before he strains out of her arms and scrambles back underneath the bed. She shrugs back at Pennywise, who has now already taken the form of Robert Gray, and he gives her a quizzical look. She gets up when she hears the cab honk out front.

The cab driver bids them a friendly hello as they climb into the backseat, and Angel returns the gesture, cheerfully offering back a greeting of her own as she settles into the middle. She does not move to the other side of the cab, she chooses this spot as a means to sit closer to Pennywise, who takes the spot on the right next to the window. She gives the driver the address to her parents’ house and reclines back against the seat, sighing in contentment as Pennywise slides an arm around the curve of her waist and pulls her closer against him. She serenely rests her head against his shoulder, feeling the cool of his dress shirt against the natural warmth of her cheek and she feels perfectly peaceful, like she could fall asleep like this. The drive over to Haven is wonderfully calm, and Angel can see the colors of the sky shift from tranquil blue to ethereal hues of purple and orange. As she looks out the window to appreciate the sight before her, she finds herself thinking that the sky reminds her of Pennywise’s eyes, bold and rich in color and utterly striking, beautiful. She finds herself thinking of him in general, thinking of just how gorgeous he was, how charming and charismatic, how she felt herself blessed to be in his presence. She felt utterly special, being his significant other, to be so close to him that she knew things no other human being could ever hope to know. She felt special knowing that he would never lift a finger to harm her when he regularly relished in drowning the town in fear, subjecting them to brutal torments before taking them from the mortal coil entirely. She was different from the rest, she knew that now, and it made her warm inside to consider that Pennywise would always make her feel extraordinary, a rare little trifle to be loved and cherished. She nuzzles against his shoulder happily, and before she knows it they’ve pulled up outside the house.

She collects her bags from the back of the cab, shutting the trunk. Pennywise chivalrously takes one of her bags and she looks at him with bated breath. The cab leaves.

“Well… This is it.” She breathes, looking at him almost nervously. He smiles at her.

“This is it.” He agrees.

He takes her hand, squeezing it reassuringly, and they start to walk up the path leading to the front door. She takes a deep breath, taking a moment to ground herself, and then she reaches out to knock on the door. They stand, waiting for the door to open, and she feels her nerves, the tension building in her veins until the door swings open. His face lights up when he sees her face.

“██████, you’re finally here!” He exclaims happily. It’s her stepfather, and he seems utterly pleased as punch at her presence. After giving her a hug on the doorstep, he steps back and finally regards Pennywise, who towers above even him. His eyes trail down to their joined hands, and he smiles almost knowingly. “Who’s this, honey?”

Angel blushes and squeezes his hand again. “…My… My boyfriend. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Pennywise smiles, reaching out to shake his hand. “Hello there, you must be the dad. It’s so nice to finally meet you, sir, Angel’s told me so much about you.” Her stepdad shakes his hand, laughing.

“All good things, I hope. Well, come on in, we’re delighted to have you. Honey, come here!” He says, turning back and shouting into the foyer. “Angel’s here, and she brought a boyfriend!”

“Really?” Her mother’s voice calls from the other room.

“Really!” He answers back. He turns to Angel and Pennywise. “She’s gonna love this.”

Her mother comes rushing into the room, and she gasps at the sight of them. The first thing she does is come running up to hug Angel. “Oh honey, we’ve missed you so much!” She sighs, holding her tight. She pulls back, looking Pennywise up and down. “And what’s your name?” She asks him eagerly.

“Robert.” He says. He untangles his hand from Angel’s and shakes hers before sliding it protectively around Angel’s waist again. “Robert Gray, but you can call me Bob. It’s so nice to finally meet you, ma’am.”

“It’s nice to meet you too.” She smiles. “Oh _wow,_ Angel, you reeled in a good one. So tall and handsome, and look at those eyes, so blue!”

Angel blushes. “Yeah, I… I did.”

Her stepdad laughs, and then his face suddenly grows serious. “I think _I’ll_ be the judge of that.” Just as quickly as it had come, however, his face is warm again, and he turns around, beckoning them to follow behind. “Well, come on, you know the drill. Bags in the guest room, and then make your way into the kitchen, dinner’s almost ready.

Angel finds herself salivating at the bare mention of food; she did love her parents’ cooking, and she can tell by the smell that it’s lamb roast tonight, one of her favorites.

“Where’s the guest room, if I may ask?” Pennywise inquires politely.

“First door on the left. Angel can show you.” Angel’s stepdad answers, before disappearing around the corner into the kitchen.

Once Angel and Pennywise make their way into the guest room and set her bags down, she’s practically radiating delight. She’s visibly happy, and he finds it wonderfully endearing. “I think they really like you.” She whispers excitedly, joy apparent in her voice. He chuckles.

“Well, let’s not count the chickens just yet, darling girl. We’ve still got a whole weekend for them to get to know me.”

“Well,” She says. “I wouldn’t be so doubtful, they’ve been waiting for this for, like, forever.”

“I’m sure they have.” He whispers back decadently. “I bet they’ve been wanting someone to take care of their precious little Angel for quite a long time… Protect her, make sure she comes to no harm, lavish her in all the love and care she so rightfully deserves… Am I right, pet?” He strokes her chin and she’s flustered.

“Mmhm.” She manages in a mouse-like squeak, her face burning. He laughs.

“Oh, you’re so _cute,_ Angel. Come, I’m sure they’re waiting for both of us.” He offers up his hand for her to take, and then he makes his way towards the doorway again. She follows after him, keeping her face rooted to the ground in front of her. Angel’s head is racing with thoughts as she trails behind him, anticipating the dinner to come. She was sure there’d be plenty of questions, prodding questions, and she and Pennywise would likely have to improvise a little in their responses. She’d prepped herself for possible inquiries they may have, but she knew the natural tendency of people to deviate from the script in her head, so she knew not to rely too heavily on what she had planned to say. Although she was nervous and certainly a little skittish from excitement, she found herself reassured by Pennywise, whom she knew to be a skilled conversationalist and manipulator. He did, after all, easily garner the trust of all his victims prior to eating them, and he’d won her heart effortlessly over the course of many pleasant chats and discussions in the past year. He was perfectly elegant in his speech mannerisms and was charismatic to a fault; it was part of what Angel adored so much about him. He would almost assuredly carry the conversation for the both of them and she wouldn’t have to worry about anything slipping that her parents shouldn’t be privy to. It was mostly her own performance she was concerned for, for she knew that in the past her adlibbing skills weren’t entirely up to par, and this was a particularly important occasion. She simply couldn’t afford to botch this, so she was content to hand the reins to him as almost always. She depended on him, she trusted him.

Her brother is reclining on the couch in the living room as they make their way into the kitchen, and when he gets an eyeful of Pennywise he sits up. “ _Damn,_ Angel, why didn’t you tell us you were bringing man candy into the house?” He exclaims, adjusting his glasses to get a better look.

“Shut up, █████.”

“Oh, Angel, be nice to your brother, he’s just as surprised as the rest of us.” Her mom says, taking her normal seat at the table.

“And what’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Angel asks, her tone slightly offended. Pennywise takes the seat nearest to her.

“It means we’ve all died of shock.” Her brother says, sitting down next. “You’re not exactly the dating type, Anj. You never were.”

“And _you_ are?”

“Hey, takes one to know one.” He shrugs.

“Okay, you two, cool it.” Her stepdad interjects. He comes in, setting down plates in front of everyone. Each is fully loaded with lamb roast trimmings, a healthy dollop of mashed potatoes with lamb gravy and a small pile of peas. Angel’s mouth waters again and, the second a plate is deposited in front of her, she immediately picks up her fork and digs into the potatoes.

“Hungry, aren’t you, dearest?” Pennywise chuckles.

“Mhmm.” She says through a mouthful of potatoes. She swallows. “We didn’t eat before we left, remember? I’m freaking starving.”

“Fair enough. Just… Try your best to slow down. It’s not good for you to eat so fast.” He says, rubbing her back soothingly. Finally, her stepdad joins everyone else at the table, and Angel feels her face grow hot at having been admonished. She sets her fork down.

“Guess you’re right.” She admits sheepishly.

“You should know by now that I’m _always_ right, sweetness.” He smiles, his hand still tracing loving circles into the back of her shirt.

Her stepfather takes a bite of lamb and leans forward, propping his elbows on the table. “So, Robert…”

“Please, call me Bob.” Pennywise smiles amicably with a wave of his hand.

“…Bob.” He corrects. “How long have you two known each other? Can’t have been long.”

Angel and Pennywise both look at each other, and Pennywise, after taking a sip of water, starts to speak. “We’ve actually known each other for about a year. We were… Friends for a while, actually.”

“Friends, huh?”

“Yes.” Angel interjects. “But we started dating, you know, officially… Around February, I want to say? He… Asked me out just after Valentine’s Day.” That was true enough that she had no issue saying it. Though Pennywise had been courting her for far longer than that, he’d only made his real presence known that Valentine’s Day night when she was so disconsolate and downtrodden that she was desperate for him. It was the true beginning of their relationship.

Her stepdad leans back in his chair, a look of puzzlement on his face. “That’s quite a long time to keep a boyfriend hidden. Why didn’t you tell us earlier, honey?”

She’s caught off guard by the question. “Oh, I, uh…” She fumbles for words, glancing at Pennywise almost nervously. “Things were pretty busy at my job for a while, I guess I was waiting for things to calm down before I came out. I wanted it to be face to face news, you know?” That was also true in a sense. It was not Angel’s style at all to drop bombshells like this over the phone or in a letter of some kind. Though she was certainly the type to dance around little things in an attempt to spare herself some discomfort, she at least had the gall to approach the big things, the important things, in person. When push came to shove she knew when to swallow her anxiety and get things done. This just so happened to be one of those times. Though she was excited to introduce him, that blooming excitement wasn’t without prodding thorns of unease to make her hesitate, but nevertheless she pushed forward through the brush anyway, knowing that the spoils waiting at the end were oh-so-sweet, that they were worth the temporary distress.

“I guess that makes sense.” Her mother says.

Angel continues. “I also wanted to see how things panned out for a while. I didn’t want to bring a boyfriend over too soon, because like… What if we broke up a week later, you know?”

“Oh, I’d be _devastated._ ” Pennywise smirks.

“I’ve never done any of this stuff before, I wanted to deal with it on my own for a while.”

“Fair enough, fair enough.” Her stepdad admits with a sigh.

“Where do you work, Bob?” Angel’s mother asks.

“Oh, I supervise the Bassey Park fairgrounds.” He answers simply.

“The Bassey Park fairgrounds?” Her brother asks. “That’s where Angel worked for a while, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” She says. “He’s been working there way longer than I have, though. How long was it again, Robert?”

“Oh, quite a while.” He says after taking a bite of lamb. Surprisingly he appears to enjoy it. “I was promoted from manager to supervisor a couple years ago, and before that I was an employee. Manned one of the game booths, you know, the balloon race where you try to shoot water into the clown’s mouth.”

“That’s interesting. How come we’ve never seen you around?” Her stepdad asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“He works pretty behind the scenes.” Angel answers quickly, before Pennywise can. “I only saw him a few times myself while I was working there.”

“Did you know Angel at all back then?” Her stepdad asks, leaning forward on the table again.

“No.” He replies. “But I did see her around.” He takes her hand and squeezes it, giving her a fond, affectionate look. “Thought she was _very_ cute.”

“So do we all.” Her mom smiles warmly. “She’s about the cutest little meatball I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“ _Mom!_ ” Angel exclaims, her face heating up again. “You don’t have to call me that anymore!”

“She’s right, you know.” Pennywise agrees. “Why, I could just gobble you right up.” He chuckles and everyone else but Angel joins him in his laughter. She simply stews, silently abashed. He strokes her cheek and smiles. “Oh, darling, lighten up. Everyone seems happy for you.”

She looks down into her lap and smiles faintly. “Y-Yeah…”

“We are.” Her mom reassures her. “You seem like you’ve finally found someone you deserve.”

“You think so?” She asks hopefully, that smile brightening ever so slightly.

“We do.” Her stepfather answers. “No problems here so far.” He gives Pennywise a serious look. “As long as you take care of her.”

Pennywise smiles, running his thumb comfortingly over her hand. He plants a kiss on it. “Not to worry, I will. You have my word.”

**~~~~**

The rest of the dinner had progressed very smoothly. After the barrage of personal questions finally came to an end, Angel was free to catch up with them as normal. Neither had much of any note to bring to the table but that didn’t matter; they were simply happy to be in each other’s company once more. Angel regaled them with tales from the library and her parents came back with stories about life in the ‘burbs; her stepfather in particular was rather jazzed about a series of recent home improvements he made such as installing floating spice racks in the kitchen and decorative wall sconces in the hallway. Pennywise made idle chat about having met and befriended Angel through her shifts at work, telling the story of how they’d “bonded” for the first time when he’d come up to the front desk for checkout. How he’d recognized her from the fairgrounds and formally introduced himself to her, how she recalled having seen him a couple times before herself, after which they met up for coffee at the diner down the street and traded amusing stories about their respective experiences there. How they’d stayed friends for months while they both quietly developed feelings for each other, and how Pennywise had been the first to profess them that fateful night on Valentine’s Day. It was a picture-perfect romance and her parents were all too delighted to hear about it, them having dreamt of this day for years when Angel would finally bring someone home, give them what they had been anticipating and hoping for; the well-deserved happiness of their much-beloved daughter. Pennywise could not help but relish their enthusiasm to listen to his fabricated stories because, after all, it was drawing them in, it was making them like him, and he knew that would make Angel happier than ever.

After they had finished dinner Angel had loosed a great, impressive yawn at the table and prompted her parents to suggest an early bedtime. They assumed she must be exhausted from work and from the trip over and, considerate people that they were, did not want to overexert her, so they told her to get washed up and head to the guest room to sleep things off. Angel couldn’t rightly complain; she _was_ rather tired, after all, so she rinsed off her plate in the sink and made her way to the guest room to get ready for bed, Pennywise naturally following behind after bidding a cordial goodnight to the rest of the family. She closes the door behind them and immediately peels off her shirt with a sigh. The bra comes off next and as she bares her naked chest to him she peers at him quizzically.

“Isn’t there any way you can, you know, get “undressed” for bed?” She asks him.

“Why would I need to?”

“Because we’re guests, and I don’t want you tracking mud into the bed when you wear your godforsaken shoes under the covers. It’s one thing back at my house, I don’t care if you get _my_ sheets dirty—"

“Oh, it’s _far_ more than my boots getting the sheets dirty.” He smirks at her devilishly.

Her face burns, and she stutters as she continues. “B-But I don’t want to have to explain to my parents why my boyfriend wore shoes in bed so… Can’t you just… Manifest socks or something?”

“Very well, little love.” He sighs. He slides his suspenders off his shoulders and starts to unbutton his shirt.

“Wait, w-what are you—”

“You wanted me to get undressed, didn’t you?” He says, looking up at her as he continues. “I’m just doing as you say, sweetness.”

“Y-Yeah, but I…”

She watches him as he finishes unbuttoning, revealing perfectly toned, peach-colored skin underneath, and she finds herself immediately lost for words. He slips off the rest of his shirt and tosses it to the side, exposing his bare chest to her and then he starts to unbuckle his belt, sliding his zipper down and stepping out of his trousers. The only thing to cover him now is a pair of plain cream-colored boxers and she blushes at the sight of him, even as he situates himself underneath the covers and pats the spot next to him. “Come to bed, pet.”

“J-Just a minute.” She stammers. “I have to finish getting undressed too.”

“Mmm, yes you do.” He says, favoring her with a predatory look. He has intention in his eyes, she can see it, and she tries to ignore it as she picks out another shirt to put on. She comes away with a big, baggy Black Flag shirt, one that boasts a nun with her arm around a hairy leg. “Slip It In,” it says.

“I, uh… I think tonight went really well.” She says, trying to shift the conversation to something else for the time being. “Dad seemed to like you, I know mom _definitely_ did.”

“What about your brother?” He asks, already reclining on the bed.

“Well, I don’t care about _his_ opinion.” She says with a flippant wave of her hand. He snorts. “I don’t need _his_ approval. What’s important is we have my parents’ blessing.”

“Blessing for what, exactly?” He asks, turning on his side to face her. He’s smiling impishly.

She stops amid pulling on the shirt. She doesn’t appear to have an answer to his question, so she just looks at him sheepishly, her face warming considerably now. She knows what she _wants_ to say, but she thinks it might be too silly to suggest to him. She’d been thinking about it for quite some time now, and it was something she’d dreamt of her entire life, but she had no idea how to broach the topic of conversation to him. She’d mentioned it to him once before as she could recall, but she was sure he might have forgotten about it completely by now, and the focus was rather on something different at the time when she had. But as time went on between them, as their bond was cemented and their relationship matured, she grew to want it more and more with each passing day, and she wanted him to want it too. She wanted him to put his everything into it just as he had with everything else in regards to her, and she wanted to feel special when he got down on bended knee and asked that burning question. But, dreamy as it all was, he was an alien creature, so just what use did something like him have for something as insignificantly human as marriage?

“N-Nothing.” She says, clearing her throat. “It’s… It’s stupid.”

“Darling, nothing you say could ever be stupid.” He assures her. “Tell Pennywise what’s on your mind.”

She pauses, hesitating, and slides out of her leggings. The air conditioning is cool against her naked skin and she shivers. She climbs into bed with him and settles down underneath the covers, turned towards him. “Well, I… I was just thinking, since we’re… Since we’re supposed to be mates and all…” Her face burns, wanting so desperately to spit it out, but she’s fumbling for words. She’s such a hopeless romantic, she’s always wanted to marry the love of her life even as a little kid with such a child-like perception of love. She knows now more than ever that this is it, here with him, and some part of her, growing stronger every day, wants to be with him forever and ever. She knows what she wants; she wants to symbolize it with a ring, one specific to embody love, loyalty and friendship, the very essence of their relationship, because she was, after all, a human girl, and she wanted a concrete representation of their bond. She had always been enamored with it, even as a child; the concept of marriage, signified by a simple ring to represent their permanent union for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. The idea of one person, one person only, to spend the rest of her life with, to be her best friend, to stay at her side forever. And how she would be there for him, to love him and take care of him and prioritize him over everything else, dedicating herself to his causes and supporting him unconditionally. She had been well past the stage of questioning her morals for staying with him; she didn’t care anymore. He was all she wanted.

She doesn’t vocalize any of that, though, she simply looks into his eyes, so entrancingly blue that she’s at an utter loss for words. He’s so very handsome like this; nothing could ever trounce his clown form, she found that the most strikingly attractive of all, but this form was truly a beauty all its own. It has butterflies fluttering inside of her at the mere sight of it. She almost has to suppress lewd thoughts; she knows that now was perhaps the worst possible place to do such things with him. She knows how thin the walls are, and though her family slept upstairs, there was still a very plausible likelihood that they would be able to hear such things through the floor as well. Best not to chance it. Nevertheless, however, those thoughts are there all the same, fighting and screaming to seek audience. She tries to ignore it.

“Since we’re… Since…” She’s silent now. She doesn’t know how to approach it, so she simply falls quiet, losing herself to his solemn, blue stare. Between that and trying to still the lascivious thoughts running rampant inside her mind, she truly doesn’t know what she wants to say anymore. Pennywise seems to catch on to this; he looks understanding, he appears thoughtful and contemplative, and he takes her hand in his. He squeezes it gently as if to say that he knows what she was getting at, that she didn’t need to say it. They both move at the same time and meet halfway for a deep, longing kiss. Angel’s urges are starting to get the better of her now; she melts into him easily and cups his cheek as she moves in towards him, and Pennywise pulls her closer almost like a snake devouring live prey. He hungrily seeks her mouth, taking deep breaths as they both lean into it and take what they so desperately need from each other. One hand snakes underneath her midsection and before she knows what’s happening he’s shifted onto his back and pulled her on top of his chest. She squeaks into his mouth but that doesn’t stop him, he simply keeps kissing her. She feels small on top of him, small and feeble, but it only turns her on and makes her much more eager to participate in their mutual quest for intimacy. His hands start to caress her body, starting at her shoulder blades. They make their way down her shivering back, tickling the sensitive skin and then they finally wander down to her hips. Fingers hook into the sides of her panties and start to slowly pull them down, and she pulls away from the kiss, startled.

“P-Pennywise…! We c-can’t, not here, they might—”

He stops her mid-sentence. “Shshshhh… Then I think you should be _quiet,_ pet.” He smiles at her, enjoying the way she squirms on top of him, the way she looks uncertain and vaguely fearful. Not of him, never of him. No, she was simply anxious on behalf of the current situation, at the loose hypothetical, the utter mortification that would come in being caught in the act by any one of her family members. He takes advantage of it, he sips that fear, finding it oh-so-delicious, sumptuously sweet, like candy to his ancient palate. He savors the sight of her, looking up at his face, the submissive manner in which she regards him, the way he can already feel the adrenaline spiking in her veins, not even daring to challenge his will. How delightful it all was. He finishes pulling down her panties and, despite her dissent she allows it, she even aids in it, wiggling her hips to make it easier to slide the flimsy material down her legs and off to dangle around one ankle. She can already feel the unnatural sensation of his cock thrashing and undulating against his boxers, and she finds herself comforted by the familiarity of it, even if the time and place was wildly inappropriate. It would appear as though one feature of him always stayed the same, and despite her horror she’s intrigued by the revelation. She’s starting to get wet, ridiculously wet; it seemed the taboo nature of this encounter was working its magic to prepare her for him and she can do little else but shudder as waves of pleasure wash over her and open her up to receive him so perfectly. She’s beginning to let go of her objections, her doubts; there was still risk, certainly, but it was beginning to matter less and less to her as her lust began to take first precedence. He places massive, dominant hands at her hips and slowly pulls her down onto his cock.

It fills her in one agonizingly slow push and she has to clasp hands over her mouth to keep from crying out at the stretch. Her walls expand to accommodate him and she gasps when the tip hits the deepest part of her. She sucks in a deep, heaving breath and blinks back the prickling tears in her eyes, letting him do as he pleased, simply along for the ride now. Yes, it hurt, but it was in that wonderfully delicious way, the way that made her crave it, the way that made her desperate for more with each thrust. He wastes no time, he’s already guiding her on top of him, his hands never leaving her hips. There’s a quiet rumbling in his chest at the sensation of her tightness flexing around him and he observes her face, flushed and red from the naughtiness of it all, the way he could see in her eyes that she loved it, that she wanted more than anything for him to just keep going. He could sense that voice in the back of her mind, screaming and pleading for an end to it lest she be caught, lest _they_ be caught, and found amusement in how she blatantly ignored it for the wanton pursuit of pleasure. She was truly his now, there was no doubt about that. She would give herself to his will easily and effortlessly every time because, in the end, his desire was also her own, and she wanted whatever he pleased to give her, like a dog being given table scraps by its owner. That was not to suggest that Angel was anything like a dog, except perhaps in the sense that she was loyal to a fault. She would not abandon him for anything, she would always take his manipulations with nothing less than outright joy and contentment, forever docile to his guiding hand because she loved him. That was exactly what he wanted in a mate.

Their pelvises are flush against one another and the feeling is indescribable. In time, as Pennywise establishes a slow but persistent rhythm, she starts to move too in order to increase the friction of their joined bodies and the result is a perfect mix of penetration and much-needed stimulation on her clit. She cannot stifle a moan from leaving her mouth but she buries it in his bare chest as best she can, taking comfort in the sound of his alien heartbeat thudding against her forehead as she moves over the top of him. She summons a long, shuddering sigh of pleasure at the feeling of him slowly and gently thrusting into her and she unconsciously spreads her legs wider to give him better access. She’s arching her spine with each push, giving herself to his games without any further complaints, submitting to his whims despite the inherent danger. Looking up at him again, she’s pleased to find that his eyes have washed over from soft, innocent blue to predatory gold, and it’s a perfect contrast to his otherwise human features. It makes her even more wet, makes her feel small in the most wonderfully pleasurable way. He grunts quietly with each thrust, careful not to raise his volume above a low, rumbling growl. After all, he didn’t want to get caught either. No, he had no fear of being caught; he could salvage the situation easily, make her family see something entirely different should they choose to intrude on them, but he needn’t tell _her_ that. No, let the fear swim in her head, let her squirm with vague discomfort in her pleasure at the thought of being found. It tasted too good to waste. And the feeling of her cunt, fitting around his length so perfectly… He didn’t want it interrupted. No, he intended to finish what he had started. He smiles down at her, savoring her quiet noises and fragile little whimpers.

“Ohhhhhhh, little Angel… Poor, _poor_ little Angel… So desperate to squeal and squeak and moan for her Pennywise… Make all kinds of delicious little noises for his delight… But you _can’t,_ can you?”

She’s shivering on top of him, and he pouts. “Oh _yes…_ Poor, _sweet_ girl… But you know what’s at stake, don’t you? No, no… Don’t want your family coming in, seeing their precious little girl like this, all grown up, in the throes of passion with her lover, now do we?” At her silence, he chastises her. “Answer Pennywise.”

Her face burns. “N-No…”

He appears to ponder it for a moment, grinning devilishly down at her, his lips curling into a mean sneer. “Oh, they would be horrified, wouldn’t they? To see… _This._ ”

He grips the covers and throws them back with a forceful hand, baring her ass to the cold chill of the air-conditioned room. She trembles even more now with a quiet squeak, the chill working its way through her entire body, hardening her nipples and making her shiver quietly into her hands. He thrusts harder now, and it’s becoming more difficult for her to stifle her noises, hold them back. She covers her mouth with two shaking, desperate hands.

“To see my cock… Buried so deep inside your lovely, tiny little cunt, to hear you cry out in shame as you fight to pull the covers back over us, salvage as much of your lost dignity as you possibly can… But oh… It’s not so easy, is it?”

He rears his hand back slowly and she doesn’t notice, too consumed in trying to stay quiet now. He brings it down, smacks her naked ass and it makes a loud slapping sound in the silent room. She smothers a squeal in her hands and looks up at him frantically. “Pennywise! D-Don’t…!”

He grins down at her and she shrinks, a wave of pleasure washing over her. He keeps thrusting, continuing his quickened pace. His cock fills and stretches her so perfectly; it feels so _good,_ and she can’t help but become lost in the sensation regardless of the distress welling inside of her. Despite it all she’s still moving with him, she’s still wiggling her hips and arching her back, her body language painting a clear picture of how she truly feels even with all the mocking and teasing to degrade her. She wants it, she loves it, and he knows it.

“What’s the matter pet?” He says, frowning. “I _know_ you’re enjoying this, don’t lie to me… Naughty little girl…” He rears his hand back again and she can see it this time. She almost shrieks but she restrains herself and it only comes out in a quiet, mouse-like squeak.

“N-No, d-don’t!” Her head sinks and she speaks sheepishly. “I… I like it…”

“Then why don’t you show me, pet?” He says pleasantly. She gives him a puzzled look amid her abashment, and then it she can feel it. He starts to slow down in his bucking thrusts until they stop altogether, their pace gradually coming to a halt despite her mounting frustration. He relishes the hopelessness in her eyes; he knows she had started to feel something of an orgasm start to build within her precious little belly, and to have her progress halted so suddenly… Oh, it was cruel, it was unfair to be sure, but life was often never fair, was it?

“Come, little girl…” He drawls. “Come… Show Pennywise how much you want it. Fuck yourself on my cock…”

She hesitates, looking up at him almost fearfully. She stops to consider his words, consider her surroundings; where she was, where _they_ were, that they were either asleep or they were listening. She desperately hoped it wasn’t the latter. She knows that she can only wait for so long. She surely couldn’t spurn his command; she honestly didn’t want to. No, she wanted to cum, but she knew that if she did she’d have to put in the work now. So, she heaves a shuddering deep breath, shifts her weight, and rears her hips back. She starts to ride, moving on top of him again, and he starts to utter a low, quiet growl.

“Yes…” He gurgles. “Keep going, keep moving…”

She nods, following his instruction as she presses her pelvis into his. She starts off slow, but with each push she picks up speed, his cock nudging against her vulnerable clit as she continues to thrust and ease back on his cock. She starts to whimper again as she moves, whining helplessly as the friction builds up the pleasure in her gut once more, and, in an attempt to mask her noises, she buries her face in his chest. But, before she can nuzzle in the bare skin there, take comfort in the warmth of him, he reaches underneath and snags her chin.

“Oh no, pretty girl, eyes up here. Look at Pennywise…”

“O-Okay…” She agrees shyly. She continues her fragile, quiet little moans as she maintains eye contact with him, and he never blinks, appearing to entrance her with every passing second. His golden eyes glow in the darkness of the room and they’re ethereal, otherworldly; she finds herself getting lost in them as she lets his cock slip in and out of her cunt.

“Yes…” He breathes. “Yes…” The pleasure of her riding his cock is delicious and he finds himself caught up in it, caught up in the way her hair falls over her shoulders, the way her naked breasts squish against his chest, the way her eyes never leave his as per his demand. His hands, resting at her hips, creep around to her ass now, cupping her exposed cheeks as she moves on top of him endlessly. She starts to pick up the pace again, her orgasm starting to build, and she becomes enamored by thoughts of him; his gentle praises, his perfect, delicious dominance, the fiery look in his eyes and it only spurs her on, giving her the encouragement she needs to work towards her carnal goal. He squeezes her ass lecherously and growls at the sensation of her walls flexing around his cock, feeling pleasure of his own building up inside of him. He does everything in his power to bring her closer to completion, just short of returning her thrusts, and all other thoughts have left his mind now, consumed only in giving her the greatest pleasure he had to offer. She’s moving at a steady pace now, bolstered by the imminent pleasure stirring inside her loins, but she stops, her heart racing as she thinks she hears a noise outside the room.

“Breathe, pet.” He reassures her. “They’ve all gone to bed, there’s nothing to worry about. Now, keep going, you were doing so good…”

She nods shakily and continues her pace again, almost bouncing on him, moving faster, wincing as the bed frame creaks ever so slightly at her movements. She desperately hoped they couldn’t hear her. But her building orgasm starts to come back and she can’t ignore it, all she can do is start to work towards it tirelessly until she achieved what she set out to do. Though it’s hard work to be sure, without his reciprocal friction to make things easier, it’s satisfying in its own right to be able to work towards her own personal pleasure without his help, and she feels almost proud of herself, being able to almost achieve orgasm through nothing more than continuous penetration and just enough stimulation on her clit to keep her moving. That was essentially unheard of in her track record; in the past she’d always needed the assistance of vibration to bring her over the edge. She shifts on top of him, riding his cock, letting it push and squelch into the wetness of her cunt, stretch and pull her open deliciously. She whimpers, still maintaining eye contact with him as much as she can, not daring to break away from his stare as she moves back and forth over him, moaning and sobbing silently in pleasure as she does so. Her breasts pressing against his chest is a divine sensation all its own, and it only makes her feel closer to him, more intimate and familiar. They were _mates,_ they were meant to be together, and this was what they were meant to do; they were brought together simply to love each other in every sense of the word. It drove her wild.

He’s praising her quietly all the while, whispering hushed encouragements to her and squeezing her ass as she continues, giving her subtle directions as to what she should do and how she should move. He knew her, knew how to play her like a fiddle at this point, and he knew what would make her melt under his direction. She loved to be told what to do, so much so that she would not question his will under any circumstances, she would obey and acquiesce to his every demand. Pennywise loved it too, it appealed to his very nature to hold the reins, to have control over every aspect of his existence, and she was no exception. It was a lucky thing indeed that Angel was so submissive; it made her fit in with him like a perfect little puzzle piece, and he could enjoy ordering her around and commanding her to his heart’s content simply because she _enjoyed_ it. It would not be pleasing at all to have a mate that would resist his will; it would be exhausting, and Pennywise liked to make the most of his cycles. As he looks upon her face, hot with frustration and beads of sweat dripping down her temples, he smiles, because he knows that, with her, his time upon this earth would be the easiest thing in the world to savor. She whimpers so deliciously and it makes him raw with primal desire; he longs to move his hips again, he wants to shift them both, roll her onto her back roughly, position himself between the spread of her legs, and take her so hard and deep that she cries, wakes her family from their peaceful slumber and brings them running downstairs to inspect the ruckus. But he knows he can’t, he needs to commit now for, after all, what kind of master would he be if he couldn’t follow through on his own demands? No, she needed to do this by herself, alone, without help. It would be so enjoyable to watch her fuck herself on his cock to the point of absolute bliss, until she couldn’t stop herself from convulsing in ecstasy, so still he stays, simply boring down into her with those blinding eyes of passion and waiting for that fateful moment to come.

Her little whines are growing more insistent and before she knows it her orgasm is close, it’s snuck up on her and she doesn’t know what to do with it except keep riding his cock helplessly. She knows he’ll simply reprimand her for stopping, and though she craves the humiliation of being chastised, she decides to keep going despite herself, knowing that now was not the time to test him. She’s starting to get dizzy now, the room starting to spin around her as she maintains his searing gaze but still she cannot stop. She cannot disobey him, she cannot spurn his command because all of it simply feels too good. It didn’t matter that his eyes made her blood scream with something insane, it didn’t matter that she was slowly losing her grip on consciousness, she needed to keep going, she _needed_ to cum.

“Yes… Oh, what a good girl you are… Keep going, Angel…” He coos to her. She blushes at the encouragement, nodding as she continues, keeping her hands rooted tenderly about his shoulders to ground herself. And then, suddenly, after a few more thrusts, after one too many brushes against her fragile clit she can feel it surging up from her belly, falling over her like a cold bucket of ice water. She shudders, clamping hands over her mouth, knowing that, now more than ever, she can’t afford to make a single sound, and she whimpers quietly, helplessly through her orgasm. Pennywise grins, not blinking even once, and his eyes even appear to brighten now, surging in their bold, orange light. She starts to feel the energy progressively leaving her body now, and before she knows it she’s struggling to keep her eyes open. He allows her to pull up her panties, and then he gently repositions her so she’s laying against him. Her head is against his chest now, she clings to him in her sleepy haze and he pets her hair soothingly. She’s losing coherence more and more by the second, but despite it she’s vaguely confused.

“But, w-what about…” She yawns. “What about you?” She doesn’t recall him having reached orgasm, and he almost always did if they weren’t interrupted.

“Don’t worry- This one is on me, pretty girl.” He assures her, stroking her hair with a gentle hand. “Now sleep… Sleep and rest… We’ve got a big day ahead of us tomorrow.” She nods slowly, and then she slumps into the crook of his arm, already starting to fall asleep. Her final cognizant action is to turn inward towards him and hug him tight like a teddy bear, nuzzling into the side of his chest. She finally falls asleep, and he smiles down at her.


End file.
